


The Seed of Their Beginning

by niverus



Category: Kung Fu: The Legend Continues
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:40:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niverus/pseuds/niverus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Peter begins having dreams concerning the death of a loved one, he’s determined to do all he can to stop them from coming true. Soon he learns the consequences of playing a game when your opponent makes all the rules…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** : If I owned them, it wouldn't have ended like that.
> 
> **A/N** : Set after the fourth season of KFTLC, I've made certain assumptions that will hold true for the story. I have also moved it into present day rather than when the series actually took place. This is done for more than convenience, although that is a factor. For this story, I've pegged Peter's age at 31.
> 
> Further, the injury mentioned here is something that occurs after the end of the series and happens in an event that, at least thus far, is not discussed much in the fic.
> 
> Also, this is a story that was begun a long time ago and has, in its current wip state, been posted elsewhere. However, it is my intent to edit it (especially in later chapters) as I post it here. It is in dire need of it, due to changes in plot throughout the years.

_Time stood still._

_He was running; that much he was sure of. The darkness swirled around him, cloaking his surroundings in obscurity; making each sound the night conjured seem louder, closer – more threatening. Briefly he wondered at his ability to hear anything over the pounding of blood in his ears, but in his adrenaline created rush not a sound escaped his attention._

_He was frightened, but it wasn't as though he had never tasted the bitter flavor of fear before. In truth, none of this was new. It was part of the trade, as was learning to master it. It was being able to act in spite of it. But in all of his years, he'd never before felt that mind-numbing terror. The kind that now held him rooted to this spot, straining to hear a misplaced footstep._

_He heard nothing._

_That was why he feared… because he knew that someone – or something – was tracking him. He knew that whatever was lurking within the gloom was near. Its presence brought with it such malice that it overwhelmed his senses. He saw the glimmer of teeth in the dark, and with the last ounce of strength he had, he pushed off the tree he'd been leaning against and forced his feet to keep moving. He felt the presence slip away, allowing him to put distance between them._

_He was being hunted, and the predator following enjoyed playing with its prey._

_Then a blood chilling howl filled his ears; a challenge issued forth. The man wasn't sure if he was its target; didn't stop to find out. Nonetheless, moments later, a pain filled yelp answered his unspoken question. Something had gotten in his stalker's way, and, he noted with a hint of sadness as another cry split the air, it was paying for it._

_He had to stop and rest, there wasn't an option anymore. As he sat panting against another tree, he listened to the sounds of battle that assaulted the stillness of the night. He heard a human scream of pain echoed closely by another. Even in his weary haze he could tell that they had come from separate sources. The man didn't know much of what was occurring, and none of it made sense, but he knew that whatever hunted him wasn't the only one inflicting damage. He wasn't sure how long the fight lasted, but one of his last memories of the night was a sound – as from not far off, a lone wolf yowled: a mournful melody that challenged the night itself with its defiance and rage._

_He slipped down the trunk of the tree, and from the darkness the flash of teeth once more caught his attention._

_And time stood still._

**** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ****

Peter Caine jerked awake, breathing heavily while his body shook in reaction to the fear of what he had just endured. There was a moment of confusion, as the after images of the dream played with his mind. He waited for them to completely clear away, and found himself tense as minutes passed and the ghost of the nightmare remained, though dimmed.

It hadn't been a simple dream; he'd felt the fear gripping his soul and the exhaustion of the chase. He'd been the one being tracked.. and yet, the thoughts that had been in his mind weren't his. The thought pattern didn't match. The 'him' in the dream had experienced many similar situations, though generally more in the role of the hunter than the prey. _Unless something went wrong. Unless someone turned._

_Wait, turned from what?_

The tension grew, and he knew with an ominous certainty that a vision was about to occur. Knowing didn't aid him much when, moments later, the expected assault on his senses came. He struggled against the onslaught, trying to keep his balance in the real world while the premonition tore his mind from his body.

It played out as it had for the last few nights in his dreams, though new details glared harshly, to his mind's eye, against the gloomy backdrop. It was raining, or, rather it had rained. The remnants of his clothing were drenched, and the chill brought with it the inevitable internal cold. The kind that went through the skin, soaked into the bone and left behind the fatal lethargy that precluded action.

He was mildly surprised that he was still moving, but he was – there really wasn't an alternative, short of accepting his own demise. He was too stubborn, and the desire to see his family again was so strong that it felt like that single wish was all that was keeping his heart beating...even if they never forgave him.

But as the chase wore on, and fatigue deeply entrenched itself into every muscle in his body, and even breathing was growing labored, he understood the end was coming. Calm reigned, an old soldier's grace, but acceptance of death wouldn't come. It couldn't end like this. Torn apart by whatever thing hunted him.

Whatever it was, it wasn't human.

The first howl made him flinch and he cursed his weary nerves that, normally ice in these situations, were done for.

Then it happened. Though he didn't comprehend the ordeal, he understood the significance of the fight being engaged. Something had just saved him, or, at the very least postponed the grim reaper's arrival – however briefly.

Unable to persuade his battered body into motion anymore, he barely acknowledged the conclusion of the battle. He was numb, the cold was finishing the job it had started; disorientation settling in for the final act.

In spite of the fuzzy state of mind, he couldn't miss the returning presence; although it felt different now. He couldn't ponder the discrepancy, however, the flash of teeth cut short any thoughts. The glistening, saliva covered fangs confirmed what he knew.

Drained of both energy and hope, his head dropped and eyes closed. When he opened them again he found himself gazing into a puddle of water, illuminated by a stray beam of moonlight that had broken free of the clouds that sought to contain it.

In the piercing blue eyes that stared back at him, Paul Blaisdell saw fear.

Once more the vision ended; the pieces finished clicking into place, and the why of Peter's dread obtained reason. Whatever else he felt, he was keenly aware of the fact that while the vision showed truth, it was showing a possible _future_ truth. It hadn't happened yet.

**** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ****

Peter halted briefly outside the familiar stone building, allowing himself time to draw a deep, albeit shaky, breath and endeavored to steel himself from the unavoidable onslaught that would occur the moment he opened the doors. Exhaling slowly, he tried to imagine the tension and trepidation leaving his body along with the air. He could tell it didn't work completely – but it worked well enough to erase the visible traces of unease from his face. Really, that was all that counted here.

Without giving himself time to dwell on outside matters, finding himself suddenly grateful his father wasn't around, he entered the precinct; assuming what he hoped was a casual air. Moving with an innate grace and energy, characteristics that marked Peter as Peter, he bounded up the steps – only to halt once more as his senses assimilated and adjusted to the flood of emotions. Here it wasn't like walking amongst the members of Chinatown's community. It wasn't quite like anywhere, really. In most large groups, emotions generally came across as vague; individualized. One voice among many.

The precinct was different, to say the least. The agitation and rushed atmosphere were present in nearly all of those working, feeding off one another until the traits were amplified intensely. Peter actually had to take another deep breath in order to focus again. Normally it wasn't quite as difficult, but he had his own anxiety and worry to add to the lot, not to mention the sinking feeling in his stomach that insisted time was running out.

"Hey partner," Jody greeted cheerfully, unsurprised by his appearance at the station so early in the morning, in spite of the recent events that had given him the forced vacation. "That eager to start back at work, or did you just miss us?" She teased good-naturedly.

"Actually, I figured you'd all be going into withdrawal without the pleasure of my constant company. I couldn't, in good conscience, submit you to the torment any longer," his mouth curled into a fleeting smile as he directed his attention briefly at the blonde-haired woman.

"By all means, ignore your conscience," Mary-Margaret remarked from her desk.

"Funny…." Peter muttered dryly. He didn't bother to mention that he'd had trouble sleeping and now, as the result of dreams, was plagued by nightmarish visions of his foster father's death. He couldn't shake them, and the feeling of dread was persistently getting worse. The young Shaolin wasn't completely ready to deal with the visions, himself; he certainly wasn't about to drag Jody or Skalany into it. They couldn't help. At the moment he could only think of one person who might be able to.

"Actually, I'm looking for Kermit. Is he in his office?"

Jody arched a brow at the uncharacteristic seriousness of her partner. "Last I heard…"

"In that case, I think I'm going to go interrupt his conversation with his computer." He flashed a smile, but it didn't quite reach his hazel eyes. Moving toward Kermit's closed office door, he purposefully ignored the set of identical frowns that followed after him.

Frank chose that moment to exit his office with every intention of bellowing out his normal attention getter.

Peter patted the chief's shoulder on the way past, voice carrying clearly. "No, crime hasn't taken a holiday and, yes, they have work to do. My fault, I distracted them. Won't happen again." Despite the innocence embedded into Caine's tone, the chief wasn't fooled.

_Yeah, right. Until the next time,_ Strenlich thought. He just stood there, however, and watched the younger man approach Kermit's door, knock once, and enter without an invitation. Shaking his head, he finally glanced toward those in the room and took in their quiet laughter. With a customary yell, he ordered them back to work and walked over to the Captain, who had exited her office in time to hear her young detective's absent comment.

"Caine's here," Frank said unnecessarily.

"So I noticed." Karen Simms' tone was curious. She knew well that Kermit and Peter were friends, and wasn't surprised to find him here a week before he was due back. Peter Caine simply could not sit around and do nothing. He had to be up, in motion; even his Shaolin training hadn't managed to change that. Regardless, she knew that his visit had reasons beyond friendship. That much she was sure of.

**** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ****

Knocking once, Peter turned the doorknob and entered. The trace of a genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips at the familiar sight of the hacker typing away at something, expression intense. Kermit's words brought him out of his reverie and caused the grin to morph into a wry smirk.

"Don't let the closed door stop you, by all means," through the sarcasm present there lingered another element. Something more subtle but infinitely more dangerous. Peter paid no real attention to it.

"Never have, why start now?"

Kermit's head snapped up and a rare smile formed. "So, to what do I owe the visit. Aren't you supposed to be taking a vacation?" Right, he knew just as well as Simms had that Peter would be by before the end of his forced rest - all threats the Captain had made notwithstanding.

"I need your help." The succinct response was not wholly unexpected, but somehow still surprising. Well, as surprised as Kermit could be about anything.

"And I thought you Shaolin could do everything."

"Nah, it's just false advertising. They reel you in with the neat tricks and then you find out there's real work involved. Kind of dampens the whole deal." He took a seat across from the dark-haired ex-mercenary, ignoring the flare of pain that rose from his left arm when he leaned against the armrest.

"I bet." Kermit waited for Peter to continue, but the younger man seemed to have lost his train of thought; absently picking up a paperweight off Kermit's desk before replacing it and moving on to the blue pen laying there. To many, it would have appeared that the young Shaolin had become completely distracted, but Kermit understood that there was a lot more to the situation than met the eye.

"Whatcha need?" Kermit decided to prod him a bit, curious, but he didn't expect the next words out of his friend's mouth.

"I need you to locate Paul for me."

"That's quite a task, you realize." At the slight nod, he continued, "Can I ask why?"

Peter shifted restlessly, the action itself made Kermit grin faintly. Some things never changed.

"I think he's in trouble," the reply finally came as Peter began to tap the pen against the right side of the chair, as though seeking comfort in the almost rhythmic sound.

"Possible."

"Probable."

"You know something I don't?" Which really was a stupid question, Kermit figured, since likely Peter wouldn't have asked in the first place if he didn't. That the kid missed his foster father couldn't be doubted, but that wouldn't have brought him here asking for Kermit's aid. Oh, true, Caine had asked the older man, on occasion, if he'd heard anything, but he'd never actually tried to find Blaisdell. Although, Kermit was sure it wasn't because of a lack of desire to. The ex-mercenary got the distinct impression that Peter was trying hard to keep the desire of seeing his foster father again out of the equation. Something was up.

He watched the expressive face of his friend, and for some reason he heard warning bells going off in his head. Oh, yeah, something was definitely up. "Okay kid, spill."

"Mostly it's just a feeling. A hunch."

"A hunch?" Kermit replied dubiously.

"I started thinking about him a couple of weeks ago… don't know why. No, I know why I was thinking about him – what I didn't know was why I felt apprehensive about it." He took a deep breath, still trying to sort a few details out himself. "Then, a couple of nights ago, I started having dreams."

"What kind of dreams?"

"Let's just say they weren't pleasant. Then, last night, it escalated into visions. Haven't been able to think of much else since."

"So why'd you wait to ask me?"

"Figured I was being paranoid. I mean, he's been gone awhile – sometimes I tend to have an over active imagination." An expression touched Peter's face, too humorless to bear relation to a smile.

"You? Never." Kermit feigned shock, but the forced smirk Peter offered got him back on track. "So, what changed?"

"I don't normally have visions," he shrugged helplessly.

"And?"

"And the ones I have had have never been wrong." The statement wasn't boastful; the kid actually seemed despairing about the fact.

Peter was really worried.

"In these visions…" Kermit left the question open-ended.

"If we don't find him… he's going to die, Kermit." The forlorn tone left no trace of another plausible outcome.

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks, Kermit." Peter rose from the chair, fixing the pen in his hand with a bemused expression before setting it lightly on the edge of the desk.

Deciding he could use more coffee before starting to put out feelers, Kermit rose too and walked his friend out. When Peter had managed to walk away a few paces, Kermit's question brought him up short.

"How long?"

Turning, hazel gaze infinitely sad. "I don't know."

In spite of the vague response, the ex-merc nodded. "Alright, I'll let you know."

"Thanks Kermit." He repeated the phrase, the now detached tone gave the impression as if he were operating on autopilot. Then, taking the other's answering nod as a parting, he turned away. Peter offered a few, distant, farewells: his mind already venturing well beyond the walls of the 101st.

Kermit retrieved his coffee and turned, heading back into his inner sanctum within the precinct without acknowledging the inquisitive stares that tracked him.

**** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ****

"Think we should keep an eye on those two?" Frank asked quietly.

Simms was silent as she considered the situation. "If they are up to something, do you really think we're going to be able to stop them from doing anything?"

Strenlich sighed, the shake of his head the only answer needed.

**** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ****

Peter walked the familiar busy streets of Chinatown; none of the well-known sights registering in his mind beyond an unconscious evaluation that placed everything going on around him into two categories based on whether it was a potential threat or not. Deliberately the young Shaolin priest was avoiding the section of town where he knew the Ancient resided.

His brain was chaotic enough; he lacked the ability to deal with more mind games.

Sometimes he got the distinct impression that his father and Lo Si garnered amusement from his confusion. Hell, even he found some of the situations funny. But right now, there was nothing humorous about the impending fate he could feel moving toward one of the people he loved. Waiting to befall the sole person in the world who bothered to look past all the attitude and aloofness and see into the core being of the lost kid Peter had once been. Paul Blaisdell had given him a new future, one that consisted of a mother and two sisters he couldn't imagine not having as a part of his life.

No, he wasn't in the mood to deal with riddles and they'd be ice skating in hell before he allowed chance to win this round; claiming his foster father as its prize.


	2. Chapter 2

"What do you mean you can't find it?" The exclamation growled out by the detective was clearly rhetorical; he was alone in the close confines of his office with the door firmly closed. Momentarily he glared at the offending computer screen, which tinted green as a result of the ever present shades he wore. At least, he hoped it was the glasses that were the cause of his skewed vision. By this point, he couldn't be sure.

Two days without any tangible leads and patience was wearing thin. There was no doubt in his mind about Peter's vision - he'd seen the kid do some amazing things. Too many to deny that it was real. Believing it didn't help him in locating the target, however. He'd put his feelers out the moment he'd returned to his office, and he'd barely left the room since. The lack of information gained was almost enough to make him angry, and maybe it would have seriously ticked off anyone else. But he was an old player in the information game, and knew that all it took was one tiny find to lead to the desired knowledge. It was the belief that he'd located that small gem that had Kermit staring at his screen well past three a.m.

He continued to caress the particle of data he'd found hidden in the depths of the cyber world, trying to milk the source for all it was worth. It was slow, tedious work, but that was the way the business often worked. Kermit had grown used to that long ago, and when the stakes were this high …

Well, there wasn't anything the ex-mercenary wouldn't do in order to see one of his few friends back safe and sound with the family who had so grieved when the man had left. In some ways, maybe it had hurt them more than his death could have – knowing that Paul had chosen to leave. Forget that none of them knew all the details surrounding Blaisdell's choice.

The hurt had shown in them all, though Annie had been the best at hiding it. She said she knew, in her heart, that Paul would come back. Kermit couldn't help but wonder if in her heart, she knew whether or not she'd forgive him if he did return. He would never ask, of course. Annie had forgiven Paul so many times in the past, but she'd never forgotten. That much Kermit knew.

Carolyn and Kelly had been upset, understandably. But growing up, they'd also endured many of their father's ' _trips_ ', and while none had ever lasted as long as this, they were simply used to Paul coming back home. Eventually. Kermit didn't doubt that they'd both forgive their dad, which didn't mean there wouldn't be some interesting conversations between them.

Peter's initial reaction to Blaisdell's departure had been typical Peter. He knew the kid had even had moments where he questioned his own worthiness, as if that had anything to do with why his foster father had left. As if he hadn't been good enough for the man he had clearly held in high regard. Over time, the younger Caine had grown quieter on the subject, coming to the point where he'd avoid talking about Paul at all if he could help it. Yes, Paul's leaving had had deep repercussions on all of his family, and Kermit suspected that the shock-waves from the initial impact had yet to be truly felt – if Peter's reactions were anything to go by.

Kermit knew the depths of Peter's capacity to forgive, even at the cost of his own emotions. He forgave because he knew those in his life needed it, but that would never quell the anger and confusion in his heart.

Anger had a way of turning inward, this Kermit knew from experience. He had his own level of irritation over Paul's hasty departure. After all, the man had brought Kermit here, to the 101st, and then he'd up and left. That was something the computer expert would deal with, in time, but right now there were more important matters: like finding Paul.

A nearly wolfish expression curved his mouth into a smile as data began filling the screen. Well, at least he had it narrowed down to a continent. His gaze skimmed the rush of information and gleamed in interest.

Hell, they even had a region.

**** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ****

Paul Blaisdell knew that trouble was coming. Instincts, long ago honed to that specific frequency, were sending messages to his brain, prompting him with the expected flight-or-fight reaction that nature had engrained into the subconscious of every animal that walked the planet. Right now, those alarms were telling him to run.

He'd known that the business here was risky. Weren't they always? But Myanmar was chancy at the best of times, which this clearly was not. In spite of the government's attempt to increase tourist travel to the country, it remained a trip best left for the wary. Between being the world's second largest producer of heroin and the military controlled government, it wasn't a place for the faint of heart.

He'd come in with a few old friends to try and deal with the influx of exported heroin into western countries. They'd stuck to the more urban areas, for the most part, where the tourism that did exist in the country was present in higher quantities. It served to blend in as much as they could while their intelligence was gathered and recon was being done. They'd all stayed in privately owned guesthouses, behaved in a very touristy fashion; if somewhat reserved. And they avoided the Tatmadaw, the Burmese military, with the practiced ease that only came from years of building such survival instincts.

And yet, somehow, all the planning and care taken to ensure success had gone to hell in a handbasket. They'd found out that an outside group, thus far unknown by any real name, had a very high interest in the exportation of the semi-synthetic opioid. When they started getting close to figuring out who, that was when everything started falling apart.

Two of the team had been taken out by the military itself, under the guise of terrorist activities, not long after arrival in Yangon. Mostly due to the fact they never entered a country together, the rest of the team had remained intact. They'd moved on, enduring the loss with the silence born from years of courting death. Nobody went in planning on dying, but they'd all been too close to death for too long for the relationship, with the reaper, to exist on anything but a first name basis.

When they had gotten a name on the figurehead of the exporting group, they'd gone in. The man had been slain, left for them to find, and they found themselves in a very bad situation. They'd been set-up; Paul had known it even before seeing the body – the prompt arrival of the military only served as an unneeded emphasis, like pouring salt on an open wound.

He'd looked around for the remainder of his team, but true to form, some of them had already rabbited. Survival instincts, he reasoned, but apparently those instincts were only operating at bare minimum otherwise it wouldn't have come to this.

Cursing whatever, or whoever, had brought it to this, he took off in the darkness. For awhile, he actually believed that luck was on his side. He slipped past all the soldiers, all those who might have recognized him for what he was. He'd made it back into the heart of Yangon, back to playing tourist, and he'd almost made it back to believing that his luck was still with him.

It was a nice fantasy, shattered by the patrols that had begun throughout the city. Searching, and he knew for what.. or whom as it were. Him. And they were growing closer. He couldn't hide in the attire of the region, he'd stand out more that way than he would in his western garb. That had been the primary reason for not dressing like the locals, they were operating under the plan of blending in by standing out. It had worked in the past. It had worked when they'd first arrived here. It wasn't working any more.

The shout sent him running, and he thanked whatever deity there might be for the looming darkness.

**** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ****

Leaning against the wall in Kermit's domain within the precinct, Peter tried to stay calm. It was getting increasingly difficult the more he learned about the potential whereabouts of Blaisdell. He attempted to think peaceful, happy thoughts.

 _Yeah, like that was going to do any good. This isn't Neverland and you aren't dealing with Captain Hook_ , an inner voice supplied snidely. He considered telling it to shut up, but in a moment of classic Peter Caine understanding, realized that he'd only be telling himself to be quiet.. and some would suggest that as being abnormal. Not that he'd ever really been normal, whatever that was.

"I narrowed down, initially, to Asia, through some contacts in the area who know Paul. Said they'd seen him in China a little over a month ago. I tagged that bit of information, and followed it into Myanmar, where, apparently, Blaisdell and a small company gathered less than a week ago." Kermit was leading his friend through the process so that Peter could understand why he came to the decision he did.

Peter suspected it was also so that he'd appreciate the trouble the hacker had gone to, but he didn't harp on that since the praise would be highly deserved. Not to mention that even if that idea was part of the reasoning, Kermit wanted to find Paul too and wouldn't let petty things like ego stand in the way of that. It wasn't in the computer specialist's nature.

"They traveled together?" Peter was mildly interested to learn who his foster father had been working with.

"No, in a situation like that it's rare to go in together. Draws too much attention. More likely that they arrived at different times, over the course of a few days to a couple of weeks. I know that Paul arrived there less than a week ago, I can't say when the rest of them did. Or rather, I could, but it's not overtly important."

"Alright, so.."

"Yeah, he stayed in Yangon initially. They all did, blending in with the natives. My guess is they were working on the drug smuggling that the country is known for, but I couldn't guarantee that without further research. Two of their number were lost almost immediately." Kermit knew he was laying out a lot of information for the kid. Normally he wouldn't share it, knowing how much Blaisdell sought to keep this part of his life away from his family. But fair was fair, and Paul had brought this on himself. Peter needed to understand exactly what was going on and that meant he couldn't sugarcoat the details.

"Working on.. as in someone hired them to take out a drug ring?"

"Could be. Like I said, I'd have to do more research. Some of the details are sketchy or unknown simply because of the area. It's under military rule and several sections of the country are off limits to tourists. Information gathering in these zones can prove costly, and I don't have any contacts in the country that I trust and who have the ability to do the job without getting themselves killed."

Peter nodded absently, before fixing Kermit with a pensive look that belied his relaxed tone when he spoke. "So, when do we leave?"

**** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ****

"What do you think that's about?" Mary-Margaret wondered aloud, apparently to Jody, as she continued to watch the closed door as though it might offer her mind some insight into the thought patterns of the two currently within the office.

"Who can say with those two?" Powell replied, though equally curious for all the casual response.

"Think they'll tell anyone?" Skalany asked before shaking her head in answer to her own question. "No, of course not."

"Probably not, but given the circumstances there are only two people, that I can think of, who would cause Peter to behave like that."

"What makes you say that?" Mary-Margaret inquired, well understanding that Kwai Chang was one of those unnamed people and not feeling like exploring that aspect.

"Whatever is bothering him can't be related to any cases, we wrapped up that robbery case with Peter over a week ago – as you know. He doesn't currently have any open cases given that he's still on forced leave.. and as far as I know, other than two people, the members of his family are all well and accounted for. Doesn't take a detective to put the clues together."

Jody smiled, to soften the jab, although she knew Skalany wouldn't take true offense.

"You think it's Caine?"

"I don't know, but do you think Peter would really go to Kermit if it was?"

Mary-Margaret considered that a moment before locking eyes with her friend. "Blaisdell?"

Jody shrugged, frowning ever so slightly. "In a way it doesn't really matter right now. They're not going to tell us anything."

Mary-Margaret narrowed her dark eyes in thought, agreeing with her friend even as the annoyance grew.

**** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ****

He'd known that was coming, it was why he'd been so forthright with Peter in the first place. Nobody who knew Peter Caine would have thought the question surprising. Kermit toyed with the idea of trying to talk his friend out of going with, but the truth was that he was going to need help. The few in the business that he trusted were unwilling to enter Myanmar, were already there, or were already engaged in wars of their own. And whatever else, he needed someone at his back that he could trust without question. Peter was that person.

There were other factors involved. Myanmar was a country influenced by those that surrounded it, which included China. Almost ninety percent of the country's population practiced Buddhism. The religion, cultural influences and any Mandarin, or even a few of the other Chinese variants spoken, were things that Peter would understand better. He'd grown up immersed in such a culture. While Kermit had traveled, he couldn't imagine ever knowing some of those details better than his friend. And, he, himself, didn't speak much of any dialect from China. While the majority of the Myanmar spoke Burmese, there were those who spoke one of the variants of Chinese as a first language. Never mind the fact that if they ended up having to exit through China, the first hand knowledge of the languages that Peter possessed could prove an asset beyond price.

That wasn't taking into account any 'tricks' that might help along the way.

He sighed. Just because he understood the necessity, didn't mean he liked the situation. Peter might be a great cop with abilities the rest of them could only attempt to fathom, but he still wouldn't be prepared for the lion's den they were about to enter.

Then again, Kermit hadn't been the first time either.

"I debated two courses of action: either going into Myanmar through one of the surrounding countries borders or going straight into Yangon. I opted for the latter, simply because in the long run it'll establish us better. We'd have to sneak in the border from one of the other countries, and if we encountered any resistance we'd have no papers to support our claimed reason for being there."

"Which is the desire to broaden our lives through touring a military governed country that allegedly abuses its own people."

"Right," Kermit ignored the sarcasm and proceeded. "All international travel by airplane arrives at Mingaladon International Airport. It puts us about twenty minutes away from the downtown area of the city. Once there, it might take some intel gathering before we know where to proceed. I lost Blaisdell's trail at the border into the Rakhine State. I know he went through the Ayeyarwady Division, and we'll have to journey that way, but we'll have to gather supplies before trying to enter Rakhine."

"What's so different about it?"

"The state is separated from the rest of the Myanmar by the Arakan Roma mountain range." Kermit took a moment to bring up a map on his computer and indicated for Peter to take a look.

"Are you telling me we have to go over that?" Height issues notwithstanding, that would take time.. time that Paul didn't have.

A hint of a smile graced Kermit's features at the expression on the other detective's face. "No, we'll be taking the sea route." That they'd have to be extremely careful went unsaid.

"How long do you expect this to take us?"

"Couple of days. I have contacts, regarding the information side of things, currently within the country. We can secure transportation through them."

"You trust them?" Peter questioned curiously.

"For transportation and gear, sure."

"And to not sell us out?"

Kermit pushed his sunglasses back up to their rightful resting place. "If we're not out of that country within a few days, we're dead anyway."


	3. Chapter 3

Peter leaned casually against the wall near the window, allowing himself a look out into the bright world of Myanmar. In spite of the glow that seemed to surround the splendor of the aged city, it felt tainted to the cop. It was almost as though, if he listened long enough, he could just make out the whispers of anguish and despair that even the beauty couldn't gloss over. Softly the words formed, tapping his consciousness with their wispy presence: a trap.

A sad smile tugged at his lips.

Yeah, a tourist trap. Myanmar really was trying to coax paranoid travelers into its heart. Problem was, Peter was currently in that heart... and he could see into the dark soul that accompanied it. There was so much wrong here, he couldn't even begin to think of a way to help.

Oh, the city had an interesting history and the truly wonderful things to view were among the oldest parts. Like the Shwedagon Pagoda, that Peter had played tourist and gone to see. There was something about being inside such an old temple that put the young priest into a somber mood; in part due to the memories that rose, unbidden, from their murky depths. Memories, not surprisingly, of his childhood. The temples may not have been similar in overall tone, but there lingered a shared ambiance. Something almost surreal, but he knew that was just the whimsical nature of memory toying with his emotions.

Still, he was glad to have seen it. From where he currently stood, he could just make out the golden top. The sight prompted fleeting curiosity of what the Pagoda had looked like upon its initial construction. After so many earthquakes had damaged it, over the course of centuries, he wondered how much it resembled its original intent.

Intentions were funny things, and time often distorted them.

His wandering thoughts found themselves focused on Kermit's words of over a day prior. His mind considered them with a certain calmness, even as his blood ran cold. Peter had accepted that this mission, for lack of a better word, could claim his life. That didn't concern him as much as it probably should have. What did weigh heavy on his mind was the implied risk of failure, that any mistake on his part could cost Paul his life.

It was this turn in thought that provoked his awareness into coming full circle, once again taking conscious note of the handful of other people in the room – even if his trained mind had never truly stopped keeping tabs on them.

"Look, Kermit, I've risked a lot just to get you that information." The contact spoke in indignation. With his sun-streaked blond hair, dark tan, and mischievous blue-green eyes, Ethan Jamison looked more like a surfer than the soldier-for-hire that he was.

The answering smile was anything but pleasant, even while Kermit's response was deceptively level and amiable. "I know _exactly_ what you had to do to get it, Jamison."

Anything else he may have said on the subject was cut short as one of the contact's men began speaking, in a Mandarin dialect, to Peter – who merely blinked in reply. A raised brow from Kermit had Jamison translating immediately.

"Apparently this man thinks your friend is a priest." The contact clearly found the notion amusing.

"Really." In contrast, Kermit's tone was dry.

"Guess he doesn't know what kind of company guys like you keep, huh Griffin?" Unfazed by the neutral silence that followed the remark, the blond-haired man turned toward Peter. Yet his question was directed at Kermit. "Just what kind of company are you keeping these days?"

"That remains none of your concern."

"Hey, no. Just didn't think I'd see the day when you took a novice into a fight."

Peter didn't bother responding, he was only half listening anyway. His attention had been gradually pulled away by a feeling in the pit of his stomach; resting there by the dread he felt for Paul's impending fate was a coiled tension that had begun to grow only a few minutes ago. There was a distinct sense of foreboding, one that didn't have anything to do with his foster father.

"Kermit, we need to get out of here." He spoke before he meant to, and was almost surprised by the sound of his own voice. They had precious little time, but it would be enough. It had to be.

"What it is, kid?" Kermit, to most in the world, appeared relaxed – but the ex-merc knew that tone and that expression... that oddly distant focus. It was one of those Shaolin tricks.

"Your _partner_ is getting edgy Kermit. And you're planning on doing this with him?" Jamison shook his head, snickering. At a slanted glance from his old acquaintance, Ethan held his hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, it's your ass on the line."

"There are two, maybe three, armed military guys coming. I'd rather not be here when they arrive." As he answered Kermit, Peter was already picking up his share of the supplies, deeply thankful for the choice in meeting locations. With any luck, they'd be able to make cover in the trees that were less than a hundred meters away. While not truly a forest, it could conceal their movements long enough to get away.

True to form, Kermit hadn't wasted any time in gathering his own supplies. There were now warnings going off in his own head, courtesy of senses long since sharpened into deadly form. Yes, there was something out there. Confident in his own survival instincts, Kermit couldn't help but think that the kid's capabilities definitely came in handy.

Jamison apparently had something of the same idea, minus the knowledge of where Peter's prediction came from, because he followed them out the window and into the vegetation beyond - lingering long enough to hear the old wood splinter as the door was forced open, hinges groaning in protest of the rough treatment.

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"Has anyone seen Kermit?" Jody sighed in frustration when the answering replies were all in the negative.

"Terrific," she muttered.

"What's the problem, Detective?" Captain Simms' voice was lightly probing, mostly as a result of the subject of Powell's search. Karen had noticed the absence of the dark-haired ex-mercenary over the course of the last couple of days. She'd been paying closer attention to his presence, partially because of suspicions concerning the meetings between her best detective and her favorite one. Obviously, she hadn't been watching carefully enough.

Not that it really mattered. As she'd told Frank before, if Kermit and Peter were up to something, there wasn't anyone presently around who could stop them. Where was Kwai Chang Caine when you really needed him?

Deciding to come clean on the matter, Jody answered her captain honestly. "I haven't been able to get in touch with Peter since he left the precinct the other day. And now…"

"And now Detective Griffin is missing as well."

"Seems so."

"Is there anything to suggest foul play could be behind their disappearances?" Simms' tone was mild. She didn't believe that; wherever Kermit and Peter currently were, they weren't there as a result of anything other than their own choice.

"No Captain."

"Well, Detective Caine is still on leave. He's allowed to do whatever he wishes." Karen didn't bother to comment on Kermit's empty office; nobody really told the ex-mercenary what to do. He'd always made his own hours. Sometimes she swore that anytime he actually behaved like a traditional detective, it was purely coincidental. Then again, he was hardly the only atypical detective she had working in this precinct. It only stood to reason that they'd disappear at the same time.

Jody nodded her acceptance of the Captain's words and headed back over to her desk.

Simms entered her own office and closed the door behind her, ignoring the hushed voices coming from the direction of Mary-Margaret and Jody. She understood their worry. Wherever their computer expert and Shaolin priest were, trouble couldn't be far behind.

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"All the items you requested are there," Jamison said as his ocean hued gaze swept the treeline, wary of anyone trailing behind them, in spite of the nine hour truck ride they'd just endured without any signs of having been followed. They'd long since crossed into the Ayeyarwady division.

"Then we're done here." Kermit secured his pack over the short-sleeved shirt he wore, before picking up a semi-automatic rifle; giving it a once over before, apparently satisfied, he moved on. Gone as the suit and tie might have been, the green tinted shades remained – enhanced by the deep emerald of the shirt.

Peter finished pulling the nylon belt of the holster tight, firmly fixing it to his left thigh. He checked the buckles twice before placing the beretta into the snug holder. It wasn't _his_ 9mm, but it would suffice. Sliding a ka-bar into a sheath laced above his ankle, where it would be hidden from view by his pant leg, he straightened and reached for his pack once more. Settling it comfortably on his shoulders, he too picked up a rifle.

Without a word, Kermit headed off – Caine trailing after at deceptively relaxed pace.

"Yeah, you're welcome!" With a roll of his eyes, Jamison hopped back in the truck and turned the vehicle around; heading back toward Yangon. Ever mindful of the unwanted military presence, he decided to head to the market in a nearby village. Nothing like a little brush with the law, and half a day's driving, to bring about one's appetite.

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"So, good friend of yours?" Peter asked wryly. He was sitting contently against a rock cropping; one leg stretched out in front of him, the other drawn up near his body, offering his elbow a place to rest. Here in the shade, the sweat streaming down his back was functioning as it ought to – providing his body with a much needed cooling system.

"Jamison?" At Peter's nod, Kermit continued. "He's useful for supplies and information."

"Work with him much?" The cop in him, oh hell.. the him in him, couldn't help the curiosity.

Behind those dark lenses, Kermit shot the younger man a look. "On occasion."

Peter took that for the conversation ender that it was. They might be here, doing the mercenary style thing, but the past was still something that was mostly off limits. He could handle that, for now, it wasn't like there weren't other things to think about. Problem was, it was out of an attempt not to think about those particular subjects that the young priest was quizzing Kermit – as big of a risk as it could be to pry into the mysterious history of the man.

"Why don't you get some rest. We have an hour to wait." Approximately, anyway, Kermit estimated.

As if those words were the magic trigger, Peter blinked, only to find his eyelids had grown much heavier than he remembered them being only a second before. Tipping his head back, he tried to invoke an inner serenity that steadfast eluded him. They were taking a break from the heat, waiting for the sun to finish its downward journey through the heavens. They had a little bit of time. It wouldn't kill him, Peter supposed, if he just closed his eyes for a minute.

He didn't want to sleep though.

Of course, he should have known that want seldom played into the equation when one's body decided it had had enough, and demanded rest to replenish itself. The second time he blinked, the world turned fuzzy. The third blink didn't come.

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That he was being followed was obvious. He'd known it was too good to be true, too easy to slip out of the city undetected. Even the truck ride across the division had been uneventful. The scenery had been gorgeous; something a real tourist would have unloaded rolls of film on. Absolutely nothing to suggest sinister forces lurking behind the bright, friendly atmosphere.

It was all a façade.

He knew it now. From the moment he'd departed the city in such haste, he'd become the prey. Oh, he'd lost those soldiers soon into the chase. That hadn't been overwhelmingly difficult; though he wasn't completely sure at the time whether it had been due to skill, luck or a complete inadequacy on the pursuers part. By all rights, they should have had him before he got clear of Yangon. He hadn't understood it then.

He understood it perfectly now. It was a game, orchestrated flawlessly, and every move he made was being countered by his unseen opponent.

Like a game of chess, the hunter was expertly moving his pieces. He had lulled Paul into a near sense of security before pulling away the blinders, allowing his prey to see truth for what it was.

The reality had come crashing down, and the feeling of desperation that washed over him was stronger than he'd encountered before. It was that same wild-eyed fearlessness that came over many prey animals – especially those used to being hunters themselves. He didn't plan on going down without a fight.

Yet, so far that's what he'd done. He had been herded along this route, after entering the Rakhine state while still under the influence of his delusions. The reasoning behind this prolonged action didn't escape his understanding either. The predator was having a grand time in its play, perhaps almost reluctant to let it end. But end it would, as it brought Paul closer and closer to its choice of battleground. Blaisdell wasn't a fool. His body already ached beyond belief; old muscles and bones protesting each and every demand placed on them now. Even if he managed to make it to the hunter's prime location, it wasn't going to be a battle. Fuck, he'd be surprised if he did more than roll over and die.

Cursing a weary spirit, and himself, for allowing such thoughts to descend, he prodded his tired frame into faster motion.

A malicious howl greeted the increased speed, a pleased sound if ever there was one.

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Peter jolted awake; the moisture trickling over his back and chest causing him to shiver violently. The cold seemed firmly implanted into the cells of his flesh, and he couldn't shake it … because it wasn't his.

"Kid, you alright?" When he didn't get a response, Kermit came to a crouch by the Shaolin. "Pete?"

Hazel eyes slowly showed a dawning focus and the harsh tremors subsided. Watching his hand, which continued to shake despite his best efforts to still it, Peter swallowed. "Just a dream."

"Just a dream, hell. You saw Blaisdell again, didn't you?" Well, nobody ever said that Kermit was stupid, or tactful.

"He's in the Rakhine, already. But we knew that."

"Yes, we did." Though his voice betrayed no emotion, his face likewise a mask of neutrality, a thousand thoughts raged through Kermit's mind. The jumbled mess they kaleidoscoped into wasn't something he was about to spend the time sorting out just now. He waited.

"Whatever it is that I said was after him, in that vision... its already started the chase. The game was on before Paul even left Yangon. Check."

"Check?"

"Yeah… you know." Peter tried to talk without letting his chattering teeth be heard. He wasn't wholly successful, but at least the words were distinct enough to understand. "Like in chess."

"Chess?" Kermit blinked, the only sign of frustration hidden safely behind the deep green barrier.

The younger detective shrugged helplessly. "Not my analogy. I guess that's the way Paul feels. That his hunter is getting ready to move in for… checkmate."

"Game over."

"Yeah."

"Well, we'll just have to get there first." Kermit straightened up and went over to quickly check his supplies. They really hadn't used much, so they were doing well. Other than a few bits of food, a bottle or so of water, everything else remained intact – including all of their weaponry. The last fact was fortunate news in light of Peter's most recent dream.

The dream didn't really change anything. Although, if they hadn't known the score before, they certainly did now. Something occurred to him.

"Did you see the location?"

"Location?" Peter blinked in confusion, finally managing to calm the phantom shivers.

Taking a moment to remind himself that his friend wasn't used to the fairly new talents, that they still exacted a huge toll on his ability to focus, Kermit allowed a deep breath to fill his lungs. Exhaling softly, he finally spoke.

"Blaisdell's location. Did you see anything that might narrow our search?"

"Just a lot of trees." Closing his eyes, Caine tried to picture everything the way he'd seen it. All he got in return for the effort was the feeling that his foster father was losing the game.

_Whose game, dammit! And why am I even thinking of it as a game? Because Paul is?_

"Let's get going. We have a boat to catch."

Slowly, Peter nodded his compliance. Dragging himself to his feet, he waited for the earth to settle before reaching over for his pack and rifle. With a certain cautiousness, he straightened and stretched stiff muscles. Satisfied that he could remain vertical, he followed as Kermit led the way through the thickening darkness.

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They'd left the boat behind them.

 _Boat_? Peter couldn't help the weary snort that escaped him at the thought of calling the barely floating object a boat. To him, it seemed hardly more than a few logs tied together with an ancient rope. _Where did Kermit find his supply guys?_

Trudging along, he was willing to give the drift wood its due – it had managed to get them to the Rakhine shore in relatively one piece... splinters not counted. But that was all it had done; like some clichéd scene in a movie, the damn thing had fallen apart practically the moment Kermit had gotten his stuff off it and started wading through the final few feet of water – leaving the 'boat' hidden.

Where there had been something reasonably solid, there suddenly was nothing, and Peter ended up soaked. True, he hadn't lost anything; only wounded his already tender pride. He'd live, but come hell or high water – he was not getting on anything like that again.

He was about to tell Kermit just that, when he pulled up short, gaze narrowing in concentration. Kermit stopped almost immediately, and Peter could tell there was some annoyance in the ex-mercenary's stance. He ignored it. Something felt familiar here. Something felt strangely like home.

 _Paul_.

But it wasn't his foster father, of course. The young Shaolin had a strange moment of clarity in which he just _knew_ the direction that Blaisdell was, in relation to their current location. What was present, almost directly beneath one scuffed hiking boot, was a dried patch of blood.


	4. Chapter 4

Moving his foot back a matter of inches, Peter knelt down without saying a word. Lightly his fingers brushed over the blemish the land offered up to the observant hazel gaze; the blood was little more than a deeper darkness among the night. It wasn't a matter of vision, the lack of light prevented one from seeing more than that. His mind, however, saw what his eyes could not - the ruby stain that corrupted the soil like some unforgivable sin.

Paul's blood, of course.

That's why his psyche had reacted so strongly toward its presence and reeled from its having been shed. Never mind the fact that the blood indicated something deeper, almost symbolic.

The game had just stepped up a notch.

Where before it had all been a chase, whatever hunted Blaisdell was now moving in for the kill. Peter couldn't be sure how quickly this predator would seek to bring its quarry down; slowly perhaps, if the almost casual pursuit was any measure to go by. Regardless, it would happen tonight. First blood had been drawn, and the smell was intoxicating.

_What the hell?_

The priest quickly drew his hand back from the dirt, as if contact with the cool earth had burned the flesh of his fingertips. For long moments he simply stared at his hand, as though it had betrayed him.

"Caine?" Kermit's voice was wary, alert eyes focused on his friend even while his other senses remained trained on his surroundings. When his inquiry received no response, he tried again. "Peter? What is it?"

Still, there was no reply, and as the minutes ticked by Kermit seriously began to wonder if the kid hadn't gotten lost in some corridor in his mind. Something the ex-merc couldn't imagine having happen to himself, ever aware as life had taught him to be, but he'd learned that there was something to the metaphor. Especially when you were dealing with a Shaolin.

"It's Paul's blood."

The murmured words were somewhat shaky, and Kermit couldn't fully understand why; it was little more than a drop, though it could indicate more serious wounds. What it really meant, however, was that the time was growing near and they had to catch up to Blaisdell soon. Any hunter would be moving in for the final strike before long, this Kermit knew from his own nature.

Kermit harbored no illusions that he, himself, was every bit the predator as the creature they followed. After all, they were hunting the hunter, right? And Kermit had every intention of eradicating its existence.

In spite of that knowledge, they had time. The creature had shown no inclination to hurry its action, so he felt reasonably confident they'd get there before it was too late. Why then was Peter so disturbed? Without question it had to be something appealing to those Shaolin senses only.

"I figured." He waited for the kid to continue.

Instead, Peter rose and walked off; altering their direction slightly, Kermit noticed, as he found himself trailing behind. But the younger man's stride was confident, quick paced without being rushed. He wasn't recklessly racing into the unknown as he might once have done.

Through practiced ease the computer expert caught up without seeming to exert himself. Slanting a sideways glance at Peter, he noticed the guarded expression lingering in dark eyes. That, Kermit could understand. It was the emotionless mask that had consumed the rest of his friend's features, casting them in marble, that had the ex-merc uncharacteristically worried.

Something had happened back there; whatever it was Kermit had been oblivious to it, and he wasn't talking about the blood.

Such thoughts occupied a corner of his mind for awhile so that he almost didn't notice it when Peter came to a stop once more. Crouching down, expressive gaze holding a feral cunning in it, the young Shaolin's face had gone immeasurably cold.

_And hold on, was he sniffing the air?_

Kermit was suddenly reminded of an animal testing the breeze for scent of prey. For the first time in a very long while, the ex-mercenary felt an icy shiver creep down the length of his spine.

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Paul paid little attention to the laceration that cut viciously across his arm. It had bled freely for a time, but seemed under control since he had tied a torn portion of his shirt tightly around it. The drizzle of rain, that had begun an hour ago, served to help keep the wound clean; even if that was the only helpful thing the light shower did.

The sweat that the day had prompted, and that his enforced movement still caused, now felt like ice as the weather took a cool turn. To add to his current misery was a set of four agonizing gashes that marked his midsection, prompting tremors of pain to course through his body each time the rain caused old sweat to cascade into the open flesh. It was almost enough to make him wish that the inevitable chill would come, causing all feeling to vanish. Almost.

Breathing was an interesting affair in its own right. While the air wasn't cold enough to inhibit the action, the combined fatigue and pain were pushing it toward that end.

At least he'd seen his stalker, face-to-face. Nose to nose, or nose to muzzle, as the wolf shredded the soft flesh of his chest.

Didn't that beat all. The thing that had hunted him relentlessly since his departure from Yangon had turned out to be nothing more than a glorified dog. And yet, it was infinitely more. As he'd stared into the orange tinted eyes of his attacker, he'd seen something that had left him profoundly stunned.

It wasn't simply the cool intelligence that lurked just behind the bloodlust, or the restraint the creature had shown in the way it had wounded him; drawing blood, causing pain, but nothing life threatening … yet. Somehow, underneath all the animal aggression, Paul had caught sight of something more familiar. Something human.

The thrill of the chase and slow method of the kill, wasn't normal behavior for wolves. Blaisdell knew this at least. It wasn't really like any animal, except for the two legged variety. God, Paul had dealt with the bestial side of human nature enough to recognize it, even if it came in an unexpected form.

His mind toyed with the idea as he rested his badly beaten body against a tree. The remains of his clothing had long since soaked through, bringing a flesh numbing chill with it.

If asked, he couldn't have told anyone what that thing was. Sight of it had cut off any thought of his hunter being truly human. Nothing with eyes like that could ever lay honest claim to the term, and it had nothing to do with the creature having four legs; he'd seen men who could never hold the designation of human.

And never mind the fact that such malevolence was contained in the shell of a wolf; the twisted pleasure the creature derived from this sick game chased away any notion that he was dealing with a natural animal. Forget how stupid that might have sounded. He'd been around too many Shaolin, seen too many crazy things, to doubt what little sense his mind was offering him.

That didn't tell him what it was, though. It also didn't help him find a way out of this mess.

He cringed involuntarily when the howl pierced the night, cutting through the last of his nerve like a knife. Come what may, Paul Blaisdell finally accepted his defeat.

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Kermit glanced over at his friend, who was standing motionless once more – completely oblivious to the rain that was pelting them both.

With his head cocked slightly to one side, Peter looked as if he were listening for something. "Did you hear that?"

The distance in the voice kept Kermit from bothering to respond. Since the moment they'd crossed the bit of blood, trying to talk to Peter had been like communicating with a brick wall. It was odd, really. Kermit wasn't one to pursue conversation often, usually only when it was to gather information. He felt comfortable in silence, and rather enjoyed the mystery it created about him. It was amusing, in a way, and usually kept people at a safe distance.

However, this was nothing short of wrong. The energy that was Peter Caine, normally barely contained within his own skin, now only made the essential motions. And in the times like now, when he paused for whatever reason, it was eerie on so many levels. The absolute stillness of the man.

It was almost like Peter had ceased to be himself.

_Oh, yeah. Now you're sounding insane, Griffin. Get a hold of yourself. Lucky the old man can't hear you._

Kermit Griffin, cracking under pressure. Not likely. Wasn't going to happen. He'd seen this weird shit before. Well, okay, not precisely this exact level of strange – but close enough. Hang around any Shaolin long enough, Kermit had come to understand, and odd stuff was going to happen. Not to mention that for as long as he'd known him, Peter Caine had been a nexus for trouble. Trouble of the creepy kind wasn't that big of a step up.

Accepting that he wasn't really going to get any answers out of the younger detective right now, he simply followed when Peter started walking again. Though not a follower by nature, nor really a leader for that matter, Kermit understood when such action was necessary. Ego wasn't even a factor; acting in pride would just get a person dead.

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Distantly Peter thought he heard himself speak. Had he asked Kermit a question? He had been about to inquire about that when another howl caught his attention. Oh, that's right. He'd been asking Kermit whether or not he'd heard that before. Didn't matter now because he was sure of what he was hearing. The second cry had confirmed it in his mind. Without thinking twice about it, he set off in the direction of the commotion.

What a melee it sounded like, too. It consisted of several pain filled yips, indicating that a strike had found its mark, as well as various other sounds that told of defiance and challenge. The fight wasn't all that far off, he thought, and it was confirmed when he sensed Kermit tense – though the hacker never broke stride. There was a new alertness to the man, something had changed in his scent.

The thought caused Peter to swallow hard.

_Kermit's scent?_

Those invading thoughts, he understood, were the cause. Once more they assaulted his normal senses and took control. They weren't Paul's; that was a known certainty. His foster father's thoughts, while foreign, had filled him with an impression of familiarity. Of the known.

These new instincts were wilder, more animalistic. Feral.

And they unnerved him.

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Naturally he wished that he hadn't lost his gun in the last attack, but there was nothing to do about that now. He had heard the sounds of battle end a short time ago, and he waited.

Odd still, to think it was going to end here. Not that he'd ever deceived himself into thinking it wasn't possible that he'd die overseas, in some country many people had never heard of, let alone been to.

Propped up against a tree, knees bent up to his chest, he wrapped his good arm around them and tried to ignore his protesting ribs. He must have bruised a few, maybe fractured. It hardly mattered.

He couldn't move, and he briefly wondered if he was frozen to the tree itself. He was pretty sure Myanmar didn't get cold enough for that, even if he did feel like a human popsicle.

It only served to reason that he saw the glitter of moonlight off sharp teeth first; it was, after all, what he'd been waiting for. Even looking for. The eyes that shone out of the darkness at him seemed more golden than orange now, but through his bleary vision everything was suspect to error. Sighing, he closed his eyes and dropped his head.

Opening them one last time, he found himself gazing into a puddle of water. A faint rush of amusement touched his thoughts at the stark fear he saw in the blue eyes that stared back at him.

 _Glad that's not me._ Through the haze, logic tried to protest. _That's not me, is it?_

He raised his gaze to the flashing teeth once more, and an answer sounded in his mind.

_No, that's not you. Not anymore._

Well, that at least was comforting… wasn't it?

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Peter entered the small meadow; a natural grace was present in his movements, so much so that for a moment he seemed part of the night itself. One of its creatures. As such a creature, he knew that Paul was nearby. Within the aroma of fear and pain rose the familiar and welcome scent of his foster father.

The young priest knew that he'd connected, on some level, to the predator that he and Kermit trailed. That was the reason for the change in his thought process. It wasn't the first time such a thing had happened, and though he hoped it would be the last – reason calmly explained that it wouldn't be. Given that, he tried to use whatever it was to his advantage, even if the closeness to such a psyche made his skin crawl.

Paul's life was at stake, Peter would cope with it. He had to. That foremost in his thoughts, he moved smoothly forward. His pace had quickened, an almost animalistic eagerness overtaking him. He barely kept the near recklessness of it in check as he approached the treeline once more. Paul was there, and nothing was going to keep him from reaching one of his pack.

Kermit traveled only a step behind, the moonlight highlighted the open area nicely and shined in a brilliant green glow to the mercenary's eyes. He'd abandoned his trademark glasses in favor of the night vision goggles, and found no irony in the fact they kept the world green. That was the way life was meant to be viewed, he'd become convinced of it.

Catching sight of motion within the trees, he raised his weapon and continued forward. There were wolves around, and despite the unanswered questions of earlier, Kermit was certain that those howls had something to do with Paul's hunter. A thought nagged at the back of his consciousness, concerning wolves, something about their mannerisms. He pushed past that and concentrated on the matter at hand. If they didn't get past dealing with this, then the rest didn't matter anyway.

When a wolf broke cover and bounded toward him, baring its teeth, Kermit didn't hesitate to pull the trigger – felling the animal immediately.

An angry growl echoed in the forest.

Kermit didn't even flinch. Peter had disappeared behind a tree, and he followed. Within a matter of strides, he found himself once more surrounded by the vegetation. That was irrelevant.

Almost directly in front of him, with his back to the mercenary, knelt Peter. Next to him was the man they'd come to this hellish country to find.

Peter had set his weapon on the ground as he gently took stock of his foster father's injuries. The unconscious man was of no aid, for the moment, so the younger Caine did the best he could in his evaluation of the situation. That Paul was hurt, there was no doubt. But hurt enough to where moving him outweighed the risk of staying here? That was the inquiry put forth by his mind; his fingers probed the upper section of Blaisdell's arm, as well as the flesh that overlay his ribs, trying to answer it. Two ribs were definitely cracked, how badly he couldn't tell without applying more pressure – and doing that would be foolish.

Serious bruising had already set in over the bulk of the man's chest, and extended into his lower abdomen. The angry purplish-black marks also encased the entire upper arm and caused the laceration present to stand out harshly. It had stopped bleeding, unlike the ribs. Most likely due to the less severe nature of the wound, but also due to the pressure of the make-shift bandage that Paul had applied.

Removing his pack from his back, he fished out the dressing that they'd seen fit to bring along. Binding his foster father's midsection as tightly as he dared, he then taped it in place. Peter also took a moment to clean and dress the arm wound. That having been done, and secure in the knowledge that Kermit was watching his back, he closed his eyes and worked to center himself.

Slow, steady breaths silently touched the air as the elusive peace that he'd been seeking for days finally settled over his mind and body. The tension drained from his form, and his focus shifted from his surroundings to the still unconscious man next to him. Peter rested his own hand lightly on Paul's wrist, fingers loosely grasping the cool skin.

His thoughts became a glowing blue entity; a vibrant hue that spread out through his body and slowly worked its way into the flesh of the wrist he was holding. It seeped down until, hitting an energy pathway, it flared up. As the healing energy pushed forward, meeting the faint tan force belonging to Blaisdell, it gently immersed itself into what remained of Paul's own life-force.

He didn't seek to overpower the tan energy, as some were wont to try; Peter understood that it did more harm than good. Rather, the cerulean essence simply sought to empower the other, to allow it to rebuild itself back up to normal standing. The reason few attempted this route wasn't entirely without merit. It was a time consuming process and it exacted its toll on the one sharing.

Peter pushed past the initial fatigue that came with the contact, and continued to offer what help he could to replenish Paul's fragile energy. Some time later, how long he couldn't be sure of, the tan force finally seemed to be responding. It had grown stronger, taken back up its task of regenerating the body that housed it. That was progress; any movement from his foster father's chi was an improvement.

Distantly he heard a groan, and the small part of his mind still trained on the real world informed him that Paul was regaining some semblance of consciousness.

Another sound was heard, and he contemplated its origin moments before something solid connected with his body and knocked him clear of Blaisdell.


	5. Chapter 5

Luckily for Peter, he'd allowed his mind that small slip back into reality before the force of the blow yanked him brutally into full awareness. Had he still been entirely linked to Blaisdell, that brusque severing of the connection would have played hell with the priest's mind. He would have been easy prey.

As it was, Peter found himself blinking rapidly to clear the after images of the light from his vision. Even as his senses sought to restore balance and order to the current chaos reigning, he found himself pushing up with his forearm and meeting resistance. Furry resistance.

He closed his eyes, feeling the slavering animal's spit wetting his face, running down his neck and collecting in the hollow at the base of his throat.

The leverage he had, slight as it was, was the pressure he was applying to the wolf's trachea. He'd been fortunate that his arm had caught the beast there; it was the only thing preventing the creature's lethal teeth from finding the soft flesh of the young detective's throat and ripping into it. Peter was perfectly aware that the predator attacking him was waiting for a mistake – just one – that would allow it access to the vital blood vessels located there. Either the carotid artery or the jugular vein - didn't matter. Slash through those, and the battle was over.

He had to regain his feet somehow, but trying to fend off an animal, with approximately a hundred and thirty pounds of pure muscle backing it, wasn't a minor feat. Especially when it already had him down. But he tried, and as he endeavored to do so his senses finally began to return. Although, for the moment he could have done without vision.

Staring up at saliva dripping fangs and bloodlust filled orange eyes, he resisted the urge to gag as the snarling wolf's breath finally registered with his brain.

_God, that's nasty. And a dog's mouth is supposed to be cleaner than a human's?_

Absurd, the thoughts that found their way into his head right now. He'd have smacked himself if it wouldn't have given the wolf just the opportunity it needed to finish him off.

He wasn't going to be able to get up like this. Peter needed a weapon; something easily accessible. Something… sheathed above his ankle. Drawing the leg up as near to his right hand as he could, he fumbled with the pant leg as he tried to reach under it and grab the knife located there. All the while, the cop could feel the strength in his left arm ebbing. The less than two-week-old injury was flaring up in protest of the rough treatment. Already weakened, the muscles, strained as they were, were beginning to give up.

He felt his hand brush over cool metal. Trailing upward, past the guard, searching fingers located the handle of the deadly ka-bar. Jerking the light-weight weapon free, he grasped it firmly and with all the force he could muster, jammed it into the wolf's shoulder. He heard metal strike bone and winced at the sound as once again his hearing acuteness rose to an inhuman level.

The only thought, as the shrieking cry tore through the night, was to keep a hold of the knife. He managed to, barely, as the animal wrenched itself free. Watching the way it moved without placing any weight on the injured limb, and noting the way in which the shoulder sagged, Peter was fairly certain the ka-bar must have broken the bone.

How, he had no idea. Luck must have been with him in his aim.

Oddly, there was no hatred in the wolf's gaze; bright intelligence, marred by pain, stared out at him.. and a strange…

_Respect? Curiosity?_

Having rolled to his feet the first moment the opportunity had presented itself, he kept the ka-bar in front of him but near his body. No stray attack was going to make him lose his only means of survival.

_You've got to be kidding me!_

It was the only thought his mind could summon when two more wolves showed up amongst the trees. He sighed wearily, circling slowly back around to place himself in front of Paul. The animals crouched for an assault; Peter could see their bodies tense, smell the adrenaline coursing through their veins.

A loud crack sounded the release of a bullet and wood splintered in a tree near one of the wolves. The duo took off running. The young Shaolin, his eyes trained on the large black wolf still nearby, spoke with forced humor.

"Welcome back, Kermit."

"Couldn't let you have all the fun, kid," the voice was light and dangerously edged, but it didn't manage to hide the embedded pain from Peter's overly sensitive hearing. Never mind that he could smell the man's blood.

The ex-mercenary lifted the rifle, and for an instant the black wolf glared sullenly at him. A blink later, and the animal was gone.

Using whatever bond had formed between him and that wolf, Caine confirmed that the animals were truly in retreat. There was a feeling that lingered, telling him that this wasn't the end.

Almost a promise.

Shaking his head, trying to ignore the various lacerations and punctures garnered from the animal's painful clawing, he took in the form of his friend. Kermit had lowered the rifle, and Peter wasn't certain if it was because he felt the threat vanish, or because he simply couldn't hold the weight up any longer. The man looked terrible.

"What happened to you?"

"Dog bite." The joke was strained, as was the voice it was spoken with, but the priest could no longer catch the scent of pain. The foreign senses had ceased their invasion, and there remained no lasting remnant of their passing.

"Kermit…"

"Let's get Blaisdell out of here." Kermit carefully slung the strap connected to the weapon over his shoulder, rifle pressing into his sore back, and moved slowly over to the only one of the three that remained on the ground. Proficient at disregarding wounds, the dull throbbing in his leg, and agony of the deep cuts marking the flesh of his arms and abdomen, still managed to register complaint with his brain. No sign of feeling it touched his face, and it only managed to show up as a slight limp to his movements.

"We're going to have to leave some of this stuff behind," Peter indicated their packs as he cleaned his knife and re-sheathed it. Walking a few meters, he picked up the beretta and the holster that had held it. The nylon had been shredded by the wolf's claws in the initial attack. That it had been a deliberate move on the predator's part was not in doubt.

Tossing the useless holster away, he moved over to Kermit's pack and lifted it; carrying it over to where his friend knelt near Paul. Completing this, his clouded mind realized that Kermit hadn't responded.

"Kermit?" The word was little more than a whisper from a throat that felt bone dry. _Was I screaming?_ He couldn't be sure, but water definitely seemed like a good idea. Even necessary.

"Yeah?" The hacker sounded remote, vague. It only lasted a second before he snapped back to the present.

"We're going to need to leave some of this here," Peter repeated the general idea, half of his own attention focused on not falling over. He'd lost some blood, but didn't think it could be enough to cause any real problems.

"Bring all the water; once the sun gets up we'll need it. We're going to need the rifles, but there's no way all of the ammunition can come with. Drop the ammo for the beretta, but keep it loaded. Sort through the rest, put it all into one pack." If he was going to say anything else, it was cut off by a flickering of Paul's eyelids. After a minute, the cool blue eyes stayed open.

"Kermit?" Hoarse sounding and whisper soft, the confusion was plain. "What're you doing 'ere?"

"Saving your ass yet again. What else?" One corner of Kermit's mouth tugged up into a trace smile.

"Wolf?"

Kermit understood the question immediately of course. Blaisdell was wondering where his attacker was.

"It ran off." Technically that was true.

"You look like hell."

Look like? Paul's eyes hadn't left his face, Kermit was sure of it. _Oh, duh. That damn mutt scratched my cheek._

"You're not really in a position to talk." His lips quirked a bit more, relief turning it into a genuine smile.

"I bet." Suddenly he seemed confused again. "I thought I heard Peter."

"You did." Hefting one pack, the younger Caine once more approached the tree. Unwavering hazel eyes met weary blue, and there was unspoken pain and guilt respectively. But now wasn't the time for any of that, they had to get out of here.

"Why're you 'ere?" Puzzled yet again. He understood Kermit's presence, simply because his mind could accept his old friend being in this country. Peter wasn't involved in this lifestyle though; he shouldn't be there.

"Touring Myanmar, seeing the sights and communing with nature. You know, the usual vacationey type stuff." Right now, those hazel eyes were dancing. They had Paul; that was a victory in itself as far as he was concerned.

At the raised brow he received in answer, Peter smiled mischievously. "What? Captain Simms said I _had_ to take one!" That got a laugh, and not only from his foster father.

"She did. Don't think this was what she had in mind, though, Caine." Kermit said, as he began hauling Paul to his feet. They didn't have the time or energy to build any sort of stretcher, let alone haul such a device.

Peter chuckled as he fixed the pack, as comfortably as possible, to his back. He grimaced slightly when it rubbed up against a scratch on his shoulder. He hadn't even known that the cut was there, and it made him wonder how many others there were. It didn't really matter; no matter what he had to be better off than either of the other two.

"Hey, she threatened me with bodily harm if I didn't take the vacation time." He glanced down at himself, taking stock of the ragged jeans and shirt splotched with red, and shrugged with unconcealed humor. "I think really, this is her fault."

"Would love to hear you inform her of that logic." Kermit snickered, knowing that no details of this little trip would ever be told to anyone, by any of them. His smirk broadened at the low sound of Peter's grumbling.

Between the two of them, they mostly carried Paul. Blaisdell had remained predominantly silent during the exchange, minus the occasional snort of amusement, but was fully focused and very ready to be getting out of here.

A thought occurred to Peter.

"So... exactly how are we getting back, anyway?"

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"Okay, I feel cheated." Peter scowled at the floating object in the water before him. A _boat_. An actual engine-holding, gas fueled boat. "Where was this thing when we came here in the first place?"

"We had to be more discreet then. We're leaving now and we'll be in Bangladesh before it matters. Now stop whining and get on." Kermit, green tinted shades once more in place, was unfazed by his friend's complaining. He grinned when Peter looked toward his foster father for support.

Paul, who was already sleeping, wouldn't have been swayed by the grumbling either.

Growling low, a sound reminiscent of a wolf, Peter complied. Less than a minute later they were leaving the shore of Myanmar in their wake.

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All in all, they spent just over a day in the country.

Their time in Bangladesh was peaceful, allowing their minds and bodies to rest and come down off of their almost preternatural adrenaline created high. They were lounging in a privately owned home that belonged to one of Kermit's contacts.

Did that guy know someone in every place they went?

Peter wasn't about to complain though. Stretched out comfortably on plush cushions, he wasn't even going to criticize the lack of taste the house's owner had. Ugly or not, it was most certainly comfy. Bonus points came from the barely audible snoring in the next room, testament to Paul's contented slumber.

They'd re-bandaged the wounds as best they could and Blaisdell was going to have to spend some time in the hospital once they got home, undoubtedly. But for right now, things were all right.

Kermit and Peter had even gotten their own injuries taken care of. Beyond some lacerations deep enough to be lasting and painful, and various smaller scrapes and bruises that would fade in time, Peter had gotten off very light.

Kermit, who had been likewise injured, also wore a sling as evidence of the fight. It was bandaged thickly to offer padding to the broken wrist until he could get it looked at back in the States. They couldn't risk any unnecessary attention by the government, even here.

In less than two hours, they'd be on a plane to China. Once again meeting up with Jamison before flying home. They needed certain papers to cover their trail here, to make the whole thing look like nothing more than a trip to China. With the cry of terrorism that Myanmar was making, they couldn't afford to leave their whereabouts open to formal speculation.

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"Damn Kermit, you look like shit." Jamison's smile was bright and friendly, all annoyance at their parting gone.

"So I've heard." The laconic reply held a hint of sarcasm, tinged with weariness.

"I got all the papers you asked for; passports.. the works." He handed Kermit the documents, grin widening with playful mischief. "Hope you enjoyed your stay in beautiful mainland China."

"Naturally."

"How's Blaisdell?" Jamison sobered as he spoke, casting a glance toward the awaiting jet that would return them to the U.S.

"Better than could be expected, considering..."

"What exactly did you run into back there?" There was undeniable curiosity in the tone. Ethan had seen both Griffin and Blaisdell during many missions, and nothing had ever reduced them to their current states. Kermit's partner looking as he did, that Jamison could accept. The kid probably caused the injuries through ignorance. Did something stupid.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me." When Kermit didn't bother continuing, Ethan prodded him a bit. "Odder than all the things we've gone through together?"

"Oh yeah."

Figuring he wasn't going to get many answers on that front, he approached it differently. "How'd your novice do?"

Kermit simply raised a brow, his expression characteristically indecipherable; gaze hidden behind those green barriers. He nodded at Peter when the priest walked back over, a cup of something in his hand.

"Tea?"

"Yeah, good for relaxation and healing. Figured it couldn't hurt." Peter's mouth curled into an amused smile as one of the natives spoke to him in the local dialect. He cast a glance at Kermit. "He told me I should drink a lot more of this stuff."

The man said something more that had Peter chuckling. "Apparently he thinks you could use some too."

Through the entire exchange, Jamison's eyes had narrowed. "You speak the language."

Peter blinked innocently. "In several dialects. I never said I didn't," he felt compelled to point out.

In fact, he hadn't said anything to the mercenary about anything until now. Whatever assumptions the man had made... well, that wasn't his fault, now was it?

"Coming kid?" Kermit ignored Ethan's sputtering, and headed toward the plane.

"Yeah." Peter started to turn, when he heard Jamison mutter, "Next you'll be telling me you really are a priest."

The Shaolin just grinned at him, hazel eyes infinitely mischievous, before moving to join Kermit. The last thing he heard was Ethan yelling, "No way!" Then the door to the jet closed.

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Peter jogged up the steps leading into the precinct. Though energetic as usual, his movements were still plagued by pain and stiffness. He was in too good of a mood to care, in spite of the verbal lashing he would likely be the recipient of within a minute or two. With any luck, Kermit had already arrived and taken the edge off the whip.

How uncharitable of a thought, Peter acknowledged, considering his friend had been wounded worse.

_Oh well, he's used to it._

Despite his enthusiasm for being back, he found himself slowing as he neared the top of the next landing. Cresting the stairs, his eyes locked on Captain Simms. Briefly he wondered if she had some odd radar.

_Has pop been teaching her tricks?_

"Detective Caine, how nice of you to join us – two days after your leave ended." The friendliness of her voice was misleading, and it didn't fool him for a minute.

He grinned in a placating maneuver. "You told me I had to take a vacation. It ran late."

Okay, not the brightest thing he'd ever said.

"Ran late?" Simms just blinked, as if she couldn't think of a reply. Then she shook her head with a sigh, taking stock of his appearance. "Detective, only you could end a forced vacation looking worse than when you started it."

"Ain't it the truth." He flashed a roguishly charming smile, knowing he'd won this round, and headed toward Kermit's office in a jubilant mood. He knew his friend was there, he'd caught his scent the moment he entered the precinct.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where somewhat more in depth changes are being made to the original posting, and those changes will only get more noticeable (to those who may have read the original version of what is posted) as the chapters progress. Hopefully this will serve to streamline the plot a little bit, at least, as I have a much better idea of what is going on now than I had while I was writing it initially. (Story kept changing on me back then.) 
> 
> I went back and made a few, fairly minor, alterations to previous chapters. Nothing that most people would probably notice.

Kermit eyed the man in front of him critically. Even factoring in the somewhat tousled appearance, he seemed more rested, more relaxed, even more cheerful than he had in months. For someone who considered himself to be observant, having risked life and limb based on that belief many times, it was odd that he hadn't detected the tension his friend had been weighted down with, for who knows how long, until it vanished.

No, not vanished, he realized, but it had definitely lessened.

Still, something was off about him. Something was missing.  _Something_  had gone with Peter to Myanmar, but it hadn't come back. The exactness of the missing piece proved elusive whenever he attempted to put a finger on the difference.

 _Oh yeah, I really need sleep._ Kermit knew he was nearing that key stage of sleep deprivation that could only be reached after spending so many days wired. Some strange bit of logic reasoned that maybe that's all the problem was with Peter too. If he was feeling this out of it, after two decades in the trade, his friend must be spinning. Of course, the kid seemed virtually normal as far as his energy level, mannerisms… Was it all an act? And why would it be?

"Been to see Paul yet?" He noted the uncomfortable shift and smirked inwardly. Ah, there was something more normal and the sight of it eased a little of the worry from the ex-mercenary.

"I haven't seen him since we checked him in. Considered heading over there before coming in to work, but Kelly brought mom over. I figured they could use some time to themselves."

 _Yeah, and you don't know what you're going to say to him either, do you, kid?_  Peter would forgive, of course, it was in his nature. But it was inevitable that things had changed, might continue to change, and now it was all a matter of what those things were.

Their trip back from Myanmar hadn't resolved anything; Paul had been asleep almost the whole time. Whatever Peter had done to help Blaisdell, had served to jump-start the man's flagging body systems and get things back on track. Probably healed some internal bleeding as well. However, beyond that, Paul still had to deal with broken bones, lacerations from the clawing; some of which had torn deeply into muscle. Never mind the cuts, bruises and all around general fatigue.

The thought caused Kermit to absently scratch the skin located just above the cast on his wrist. Yeah, like healing from those things wouldn't drive a person crazy enough. He was counting down the days until he could get the fiber cast removed, uncomfortable damn thing. Sure, he could have gotten a plaster one put on – but that would have taken more time and he didn't have the patience to deal with the doctors then.

Not that he ever did.

Of the three of them, Peter was the only one to escape without a broken bone: his wounds had been the least severe in general. Go figure.

Though thoughts and overall weariness had taken his alertness down a notch, he was immediately aware when Peter shifted again and looked toward the office door with an expression of mild expectation. A knock sounded moments later, followed by the entrance of their captain.

She held up her hand to indicate silence and both men, surprisingly perhaps, obeyed. Her tone was light yet authoritative. It brooked no argument from the targets.

"I know that the two of you have been up to something. You've been missing for days with no contact to anyone, and then you show up back in town with Paul Blaisdell – who you subsequently had to bring to the hospital for some fairly serious wounds. I have no doubt that things were much worse than that," she paused, taking in any outward signs the duo might give. There were few to work from. "I also am aware that whatever happened, you're not going to tell me about."

Peter had the distinct impression that last bit was mostly said for Kermit's benefit, there was an unusual personal level to the words. But he didn't say anything, merely allowed Simms to continue. Suddenly he felt tired. Odd how all of his energy seemed to have seeped from his body. Some distant part of his mind wondered if he'd find it pooled underneath his chair like water. With effort, he zeroed back in on Simms' voice, not entirely certain of what he missed.

"However, as the Captain of this precinct, I am ordering you both to take the remainder of the day off and get some rest. You look like hell, and frankly gentlemen, should you keel over while serving the citizens of this fair city, it won't instill much confidence in our abilities. I expect to see you both back here tomorrow, on time, and at the peak of performance." Her piece said, for now, she departed the office without giving either detective chance to protest her order. Little did she realize that neither one was feeling up to the challenge.

Kermit watched her leave, a twinkle of humor resting in eyes safely hidden behind colored lenses. When the door closed, he shifted his focus back on his friend who had begun to speak.

"Think she means it?"

"Think she'd say it if she didn't? Besides, do you want to be the one to go ask?"

Peter considered that for all of two seconds. "Nah, no sense pushing my luck."

Kermit snorted softly. "Right."

He rose, knowing that Karen would come back in here soon if they didn't make motion to leave. Grabbing the eagle from its resting place on the desk and holstering it, he quickly scanned the office for sign of anything that couldn't wait on tomorrow. Seeing no such demanding file, Kermit looked back at Peter and inwardly frowned. The kid hadn't moved.

"Going to sit there all day?" That seemed to grab his attention.

"What? Oh..." The young Shaolin looked around and shook his head, chuckling at himself. "Sorry, was thinking."

"That's newsworthy. Where's Mason when there's a story like this to be had."

Peter rolled his eyes and moved to stand. "Funny."

"Well, you are her favorite detective." Kermit smirked at the pained expression the reminder caused, it widened into a smile at the cocky reply.

"The price of being a hero these days."

"I'm sure." He rounded the desk and headed toward the door. Opening it, he indicated for Peter to proceed him. The younger man complied and couldn't help the grin that etched into his features when he heard the door being locked. Kermit was definitely the type to lock up everything, even in a police station.

"Ever think of installing an alarm?" The words held an air of innocence.

"Who says I haven't?" Kermit gave him a suitably secretive look before moving off toward the stairs.

A split second later and Peter was following. Neither one paid attention to the others in the room, who for good or ill were stuck for the duration of their shifts.

"Oh, you have not." He'd know, right?

Kermit merely raised a brow at the younger man before descending the stairs.

With a sigh, Peter followed. Exiting the building, he offered a wave to Kermit as the ex-merc got into his car, receiving a nod in reply before the man drove off.

Peter stood there for a minute as a chill worked its way up his spine, registering with his brain as the feeling of being watched. Hazel eyes scanned the area: two joggers, a woman walking her dog, a couple of people getting into a car and a dark haired guy sitting on a bench reading a book.

_Let's not get too paranoid, you'll never stop getting that look from people then._

Oh, he'd seen it enough since returning. That half-hidden curiosity, wondering what was wrong with him now. Quite honestly, he was fed up with it. Every time something happened, or they perceived that it had, they watched him like he was going to fall apart. Apparently they all thought they knew something again, because every cop in the place had fixed him with varying levels of that expression.

He was fine, and dammit he was sick of having to prove it.

_Okay, now where did that come from?_

**_Naturally they are curious. You disappear with Griffin for a week’s time and the both of you come back looking like a favorite toy chewed by the dog. Never mind that they all know Blaisdell returned with you._ **

**_Of course, they do not look at Griffin like that…_ **

_So? He'd probably shoot them if they did._

**_Relax, I am merely indicating… never mind, I am certain that you are correct._ **

_Oh, shut up._

Exhaling with a shake of his head, Peter headed toward his car – figuring he must be more tired than initially suspected. First the paranoia of being watched, then that fit of temper and now he was talking to himself. Good thing the captain had given him the rest of the day off, the last thing he needed was to cause a scene at the precinct.

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Across the street, the black-haired man looked up from his book with a pleased smile resting on aristocratic features. Dressed immaculately; his bright gaze, hidden behind dark sunglasses, followed after the young detective with a calculating eagerness. Not a trace of it showed in his demeanor, however, as he rose from the bench – careful not to jar the arm that rested snugly in a sling. Moving off, he tossed the book into the trash before heading down the sidewalk at a leisurely pace.

It was shaping up into a fine day.

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Pulling into an empty space in the parking lot, he turned the ignition off and removed the key. And sat there, staring at the exceedingly familiar building. Too familiar, compliments of all the times he'd been rushed here for treatment. This time, he wasn't here for himself. Whatever deep wounds he had, nobody in this place could ever help heal.

No, that wasn't true. There was one; the person responsible for a few of those veiled injuries on his soul. They'd scarred over long ago, but never truly healed. Peter had found that if he didn't think about it, didn't allow his mind to chase the negative feelings the remembrance of those wounds caused, he could almost make himself believe everything was all right.

Funny how people liked to think they could read everything about him just by looking in his eyes.

 ** _The half of it is unknown to them, is it not?_** That complaisant, yet emotionless, voice again, with its odd phrasing.

_They don't need to!_

**_Calm yourself. I agree. Never let them see your weakness, they will tear you down with it._ **

_Shut up._

**_We remain on the same side here._ **

_Oh, great. I'm developing multiple personalities._

**_You are not._ **

_Then what are you?_

Peter rolled his eyes. Sleep was sounding like a better idea with each passing moment, but he had to go see Paul. The reluctance to do so was peculiar; for the last couple of years the chance to see his foster father again had topped his wish list. Now he was practically dragging his feet when the man was just inside that building.

 _Come on, get going. Maybe you'll finally get to understand why he had to leave._ He consented to that, fully relieved that it was just him thinking that. The coaxing voice was gone.

Without giving himself time to dwell on it, he got out of the stealth and headed into the hospital. He didn't bother to stop and ask for a room number, after all, he'd already been here and was fairly certain they hadn't moved Blaisdell since then. As he neared the open door, he heard voices from within. Sounded like Kermit was in there.

_So much for asking about it._

Sighing, he forcefully rid himself of all outward discomfort and annoyance, and entered the hospital room. Immediately he found himself the focus of attention and fought not to fidget under those keen blue eyes. He could feel Kermit watching him as well, but somehow it seemed relatively minor. Peter barely acknowledged Kermit’s exit from the room, everything was wrapped up in that one gaze.

Then Paul spoke and with the arrival of the sound, the irritation melted like snow in the summer sun.

"Going to give your old man a hug, or just stand there?"

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"Kermit tell you about all of it?" He didn't elaborate on what 'all of it' was. He didn't need to, Blaisdell understood.

"He mentioned your dreams."

Peter nodded faintly, his grip tightening ever so slightly on the arms of the chair, unable to really think of anything to say.

"I'm sorry you had to go through all of that." They weren't just talking about the dreams anymore.

Peter wondered exactly what Kermit had told his foster father. He was suddenly very certain that the manner of his tracking had come up and he wasn't sure why that annoyed him. Blaisdell continued.

"It should never have come to that."

_Come to what? God, he's making it sound like I killed somebody._

"Are you going to tell me what it was all about?" Pleased with how even his voice sounded, his mind lost the exasperation it had felt about Paul's statement. The moment was short lived.

"Peter, you know I can't."

 _He still won't tell me!_ The disbelief he was feeling was washed away by the rising frustration. "Can't? Or won't?"

"Both."

**_He is probably just trying to keep you from harm. It is not as though he does not trust you…_ **

_I don't need to be protected. I'm capable of taking care of myself._

**_Of course you are,_** the analytical voice agreed,  ** _I am aware of that._**

He tried hard to keep the anger from showing on his face, and the disappointment out of his voice, as he stood up. "Glad to know you trust me so much."

"Peter, this doesn't have anything to do with trust," Blaisdell's tone was soft in contrast.

"Really? Then what does it have to do with? Were you off on some top secret government mission for the last two years? Oh, I know! You were probably helping them locate and take out terrorist operations overseas."

"Peter…" there was a note of warning, but the younger man was past caring.

"You know what, you're right. None of my business." He turned and walked out, brushing aside Kermit who had headed over at the sound of raised voices.

 ** _You tell him,_** there was a trace of pride present in the even tone.

_Shut up._

He left the building without looking back.

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"Well, sounded like that went well," Kermit remarked mildly from the doorway after watching the retreating form vanish beyond a corner.

"He wanted me to tell him where I've been."

"Why don't you?"

"You must be kidding, Kermit. I won't get him involved in that life."

"Hate to ruin your brilliant plan there, but he already got involved in it when we went over there to save your ass. And while I don't think he's going to take up a new profession, he does have the right to know why he was over there in the first place. Think of all the times we wanted that. To know the real reason for whatever we were doing. And when they tried to keep that from us…"

"We got pissed…"

"Yes, we did. And then we did whatever we had to do to get our answers."

"You think Peter's going to try and find information on this?"

Kermit snorted. "This is Peter we're talking about here."

"I suppose I'll have to tell him, but not right now. He has enough to deal with at the moment just with my being here." Blaisdell sighed wearily, trying not to think of all the implications of that statement.

"Good, although I wouldn't wait too long if I were you." He paused. "And while you're at it, I wouldn't mind understanding a few things myself." Kermit held his old friend's gaze expectantly; his intense expression showing tolerance for nothing but truth. He was too exhausted for anything else, and Paul was one of the few people Kermit trusted not to lie to him. Not after all the shit they'd been through.

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With his age and the nature of the wounds he'd suffered considered, Paul Blaisdell had been kept in the hospital for just over a week. True to form, he'd hated being there. He would have protested the length of his stay if not for two important factors: he wasn't physically up to being intimidating and Annie wouldn't allow him to leave.

Oh, how many of his enemies would have laughed if they'd seen it. Sight of the slight, blind woman ruling. But then, they'd never been up against anyone like Annie Blaisdell.

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"Annie, I can walk."

"You will stay right there, Paul Blaisdell, or you'll wish you had." Annie was not above threatening her husband, especially when still angry with him. He'd explained the situation to her without going into too much detail; for once she had demanded it. He hadn't lied either, she wouldn't have forgiven him for that… and she would have known. She always knew.

Sighing, he didn't attempt to get out of the comfortable chair nor did he try to argue further. He recognized the situation for what it was: not just a losing battle, it was lost. Therefore, unable to offer his assistance with dinner, he contemplated the problem at hand. Aside from having told Annie, Kermit also knew the score. Like Annie, Kermit wouldn't accept anything but the truth and Blaisdell didn't even think of offering anything else. Not with them.

Peter was an entirely different matter.

He hadn't told Peter the story yet; the few times they'd spoken to each other had been pleasant enough and the selfish part of him didn't want to spoil it. If he were being honest with himself, he'd also admit to fear. The trouble was, he wasn't sure what he was afraid of. Maybe it was the idea that, even after hearing the truth, Peter wouldn't be able to understand his reasoning. That he wouldn't be able to forgive.

Blaisdell didn't think he could handle losing his son.

Peter hadn't asked for an explanation again. In fact, he hadn't said a single word about any of it. It wasn't a fit of temper. Nothing about Peter's manner indicated sulking. If anything… it was like the younger man had decided he just didn't care.

 


	7. Chapter 7

He hated early mornings.

Oh, he knew that he should be more cordial toward the dawning of a new day; nature showing harmony as light and darkness exchanged places for awhile and in so doing, created balance. Yeah, that was all well and good, but it wasn't a good enough reason to drag his ass out of bed. He was tired, immeasurably so, and sleep had been long in coming. Floating on the edge of his consciousness, it had mockingly evaded him most of the night.

Hours had crept by as he'd stared up at the ceiling, finally closing dark eyes in a half-hearted attempt to gain whatever rest was feasible. After a long analysis of the back of his eyelids, the cop's mind finally drifted into a dreamless sleep: precisely one hour and fourteen minutes before his cell phone announced an early popularity with the world.

Three minutes later, the sound garnered attention from his brain, and hazel orbs blinked in an effort to clear away the fogginess that accompanied such an abrupt awakening. Peter considered ignoring it, he honestly did. But reason won out in the end, as it told him that no one would call him at this hour unless it was important. So he disregarded the weary haze still clouding his mind, threatening to pull him back into contented oblivion, and instead groped through the darkness for his phone.

The moment he touched the cool plastic, he knew it was going to be a bad day. Pushing past the feeling, he jabbed a button.

"Caine." Though attempting to ignore the deadened tone of his own voice, a distant part of him couldn't help but wonder if he was coming down with something. Injuries of the last month notwithstanding, he felt lousy and the inability to sleep wasn't helping matters any. Add to that the fact that, as far as he could figure, there wasn't even a reason for the insomnia. No visions, no bad dreams. No dreams at all as far as he could remember.

"You know, you're getting difficult to wake up partner."

"I am?" That was different, usually a pin dropping could wake him up. "I answered on the third ring."

"Yes, you did. Third ring on the fourth attempt at calling you."

"Sorry." He sounded truly contrite, never mind the fact that he'd been asleep.

"Nothing to apologize for, Peter. I'm actually sorry I had to wake you up, but night shift got shorted last night and everyone is out on calls. Your lucky number came up." There was a slight teasing note to Skalany's voice as she spoke the last bit.

He was finding it difficult to make sense of the words. "What?"

"Are you all right, Peter?"

Oh, great, she sounded worried now. He didn't need to deal with everyone wondering what was wrong with him... again. Absently wiping a hand over tired features, he did his best to put a little life into his reply. "Yeah, sure. Just trying to wake up. Where's the scene?"

He took mental note of the address as Mary Margaret gave it, telling her he'd meet her there in twenty minutes: giving himself enough time for a quick shower. The hot water was the only hope he had of really waking up and staying that way long enough to make it through today's shift – especially now that it was starting a good four hours early.

Setting the phone down on the bed, he headed immediately for the bathroom to turn the shower on. For a moment he closed sore eyes to the steam, hushing their complaints as the combination of heat and moisture eased the strain. Funny, he actually thought he could have fallen asleep like that. Of course, now he didn't have the luxury of time to sleep. That figured. Even if he did – that wouldn't have been how he'd have chosen to get it. Still, it was with some effort that he prodded himself into gear.

Ten minutes later, he left his apartment and headed off in the stealth toward the location given to him by Skalany. Likely she was already there, but at least he wouldn't be too much later than what he'd told her.

The drive loosened worn muscles, and managed to cleanse an oddly jaded psyche. As revitalized as he was going to get today, he brought the car to a halt at the scene and reached for the door handle. Getting out, he stretched lazily before making a pathetic attempt to close the door and then proceeded to where Mary Margaret was standing.

Absently he shoved his hands into the pockets of his light leather coat. It might have been August, but the morning was found to be uncomfortably cold. Some remote sense foretold of a storm brewing, but he couldn't see any indication of bad weather. According to the forecast, the week was supposed to be sunny and warm.

Still, what did meteorologists know?

And really, the morning had nothing to do with the icy feeling that rested deep within his bones. He hadn't truly been able to shake it for weeks, even after finding Paul. Instead, it had nestled into the marrow, intensifying as the days passed. It seemed irrelevant that there was no apparent reason. No unease. No disturbing divination. Not even a vague sense of worry.

Just that damn chill.

Hell, maybe he really was coming down with the flu or something. Wouldn't that be a fitting end to the summer.

"What have we got, partner?" Peter questioned lightly as he paused by Skalany and looked around. If his voice sounded slightly monotone, nobody seemed to notice.

"Not much, looks like a dog mauling."

Temporarily dumbstruck, he blinked in incredulity. "You called me out here at four a.m. for a dog mauling?"

"Aw, stop your whining. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you weren't glad to see me." She feigned a pout, but the gleam in her eyes lent it no credit.

Still, it caused a faint curl to form on his lips, warming features that had seemed frozen only an instant ago. "I'm always glad to see you, partner. Except maybe when I should only be viewing the inside of my eyelids. I'm odd like that."

"You're odd like a lot of things, Peter." Skalany chuckled before sobering. "If I hadn't had such a hard time waking you up, I wouldn't believe you'd been sleeping. I hate to be the one to tell you this, partner, but you aren't looking very good." She moved toward the body, Peter on her heels. "You coming down with something?"

Having already noticed the lighter attire of the others present, he relented with a sigh. "Yeah, maybe."

Skalany thought about that for a second, but given their current location and the task at hand, decided to place her focus elsewhere. "Anyway, I said it _looks_ like a dog mauling. Witness said it was a large animal but beyond that wasn't really sure what it was. Said that it went for our vic's throat and that it dragged the guy down to the ground and continued to 'rip at his throat'. Her words, not mine. She assumes it was a dog."

"Yeah, and we all know where assumptions get us," Peter muttered.

Mary Margaret tossed a grin over her shoulder as she knelt next to the prone form. "Nickie's on his way. Been a busy night."

"So I noticed... since becoming a part of it."

"Couldn't have a party without you." A low laugh rose at his brooding. It was a matter of minutes later before her usually vocal partner's silence touched her conscious awareness. Half turning, so that she could see him, her words froze in her throat. Peter was standing there, a puzzled expression resting on features that seemed at odds with those distant hazel eyes. While his gaze seemed fixed on the body, it didn't seem like he was really seeing it. So consumed with figuring out that look was she, that when Peter spoke, Skalany nearly jumped.

"Doesn't this seem weird to you? Witness says the vic was brought down without the animal letting go of his throat, right?"

"Yep."

"So why is our guy lying face down?"

Skalany sighed, straightened and walked over to where a uniformed officer stood with their 'witness'. There was nothing like hashing out a story with an eye witness a dozen times before breakfast.

He watched her briefly before dropping his gaze to the ground, searching. Moving forward, footsteps falling with unconscious precision, hazel eyes trailed over the dirt, coming to rest on a large impression. Estimating, he put it at approximately four inches wide by just over five inches long. Rather big print for most dogs. Checking the immediate area, he found another track nearby – and then nothing.

Just over three feet away, he found more prints. The animal was moving away from the body but didn't seem in a particular hurry. If it had been, it could have covered twice the distance per stride. How he knew that, he had no idea. Probably one of those random bits of trivia that had gotten lodged inside his brain.

But it meant that the animal didn't consider having been seen a threat. The witness, if indeed the woman was, hadn't provoked the creature – or simply hadn't been its intended target. Looking around the area, Peter shook his head.

Oh, yeah, he hated early mornings.

** ** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ** **

It was gruesome. There really wasn't another word to describe the scene that lay before them. They'd seen the dark ruby liquid seeping out from under the body, hadn't missed the claw marks on the vic's arms, torso and head. Even the tearing at the throat was noticeable from this angle. None of it compared to what they were faced with when the body was turned over. Peter saw one of the beat cops swallow hard, turning pale just before raising a hand to his mouth and bolting away. The retching noises followed almost instantaneously. He understood the reaction the second he looked down at the shredded mess.

What remained of the man's visage was ghastly: strips of flesh hanging loosely from the forehead and sunken cheeks. The eyes were open, but the right one had been punctured and removed, and what remained was little more than a dry socket with bits of tissue still sitting inside the hollow. Glistening, yet dry, tracks twisted over the leftover skin below the remnants like slug trails.

_ Tears. _

**_ He kind of looks like a paper mâche project, does he not? I wonder where the rest of that eye is... _ **

_ Would you be quiet? _

**_ As though you were not wondering the very same thing. _ **

_ That's morbid. _

**_ No. I believe you would call that evidence, tiger.  _ ** **__ ** The cultured, cool voice sounded calm as ever, reasonable. Collected in a way that Peter hadn't felt in months. And it had a point.

**_ Perhaps it removed the eye to take with it. _ ** **__ ** So much for reasonable.

_ Stop already! _

**_ I am merely pointing out that it ought to make you wonder why. It left one eye, the other is gone. Is that not interesting? _ **

_ It's an animal; it's random. _

**_ Oh, is it? _ ** **__ ** Sardonic amusement tinged the polished words, but the voice fell silent.

" _Go away._ " Peter muttered and whirled around on his heel when a voice in the real world responded.

"Excuse me?" Griffin had one brow arched in puzzlement.

"Oh, hey Kermit. I-uh, didn't realize you were down here too."

For the time being, the ex-merc allowed the question to go unanswered. "Well, tales of the grisly nature of the scene are already circulating. Simms thought we should investigate it more closely."

" _We_ should?"

"Skalany had to cut out, since this is starting to shape up into more than a simple dog mauling. Her desk is already straining under the weight of her existing caseload. Since I'm currently available and you're fresh back from vacation, we've been elected." He paused a moment to glance back at the victim – they were finally moving the body from the scene. "I've seen a lot of things, but that definitely was among the more ghoulish of sights."

"Yeah." His throat felt parched and the word came out sounding like a croak.

"You okay?"

**_ Back off. He is simply speaking in your native language. Do frogs not croak? _ **

_ Enough. _

"Yeah, just was not expecting that. I've seen maulings before.. that wasn't…"

**_ Natural. _ **

"... natural."

Kermit nodded his concurrence, he'd caught sight of the vic's face before they had finished zipping up the body bag. "Skalany said you found prints?"

"Not of the human variety, at least not yet. Got some paw prints in the dirt, followed them as far as I could. Animals walk more softly than most humans, though, and after a certain point I could only find various shoe prints. At least a dozen different treads; got pictures of them all – for all the good that'll do."

"Did the witness have any details on the dog?"

"Just that it was probably a solid color. Black, or maybe brown. Hard to tell in the limited light. Was big, but we can tell that from the prints and impressions of the teeth left in the skin. There were a few snapped bones, including the right femur... we're talking some serious pressure. We'll know more when Nickie gets a chance to look over the body, what I'm telling you is what we know based off sight.

"The leg had chunks of flesh missing from it, the bone was protruding from what was left. That guy wasn't running anywhere."

**_ That is probably the point. _ **

Peter ignored the comment, instead took a moment to look over the scene as the sun began its ascent for the day; casting the dirty lot in soft light. Several officers were still collecting evidence of one variety or another, including photographic.

"It's going to be a long day." Kermit finally acknowledged.

"I need coffee," Peter offered in return. "What do you say we let them finish up while we go get some? We can come back when they're done and maybe get to look around in peace."

"Oh yeah." Kermit could go for that. He'd spent the night searching for information on something for Paul, caffeine definitely had its appeal. His initial inspection of Peter's worn expression told him the kid wasn't any better off. "I'll drive."

Not feeling up for a debate, he followed Kermit over to the Corvair. Tired as his eyes were, the lime green car nearly overwhelmed his vision and he winced in response. Sinking into the passenger's side seat, he sighed gratefully at being able to allow his muscles to unwind – if only for a short time.

The drive to the café had been short enough but the pair found themselves taking more time than necessary to order their beverages. They even drank the first round there before ordering another coffee to go.

"Think they're done yet?"

"We won't know until we get back there, kid."

"Yeah." He just wasn't looking forward to that aspect of it. He didn't want to go back there, and mentally scolded himself for whining about the job. Nobody had made him stay a cop.

But it wasn't that, really. Likely it was a simple correlation made in his mind between what had happened to Paul a couple of weeks ago, and what was occurring now. He would deal with it. He'd done it before.

Having come to the necessary conclusion, he started to realize they were already back at the lot. It was deserted now, devoid of movement save for the fluttering of the crime scene tape that sectioned off a sizable portion of the area in a bright yellow border.

Without thinking, he followed Griffin with all the presence of mind of a zombie. If it weren't for the inherent sureness of foot he'd been given, he'd probably have stumbled over more than one rock. As it was, he managed to arrive safely to the zone and ducked easily under the billowing tape. He paused when his cell phone's cry broke the stillness of the scene.

"Caine." He listened silently as Nickie filled him in on what he'd thus far discovered. Some part of his mind was vying for his immediate attention as the details were garnered, but he ignored it and focused on what the coroner was saying. With a distant 'thanks' he hung up.

Kermit looked over expectantly.

"Just prelim. According to Nickie, tooth indentations on the leg indicate that the femur was broken by the animal – which leads him to believe it wasn't a dog that killed our vic."

"Why is that?"

"Simple jaw pressure. The femur is the strongest bone in the body and usually requires a good deal of force to break it. At this point, he doesn't feel that a dog could have done it."

"If it wasn't a dog, what the hell was it?"

"He said that the teeth impressions, while similar to that of a dog, are larger and the force exerted matches up more with a wilder cousin." He glanced at Kermit. "Says he thinks it's a wolf."

"A wolf? Here?"

"I know, my thoughts exactly. But Nickie's usually pretty accurate on this stuff. He admits it's all prelim at the moment. He hasn't had time to do anything else; he'll let us know when he does."

Griffin watched as once again, Peter seemed to slip into autopilot. Answering the questions without concentrating on them.

"Let me get this straight - our killer is a wolf?"

"No."

"Are you trying to say that this wolf _isn't_ a killer?"

A strange expression flickered across Peter's face as sharp hazel eyes fixated on a large crimson discoloration near the front of his shoe. His reply held an eerie resonance.

"Oh, it's a killer." In the pause that followed, the gentle breeze held its breath, bringing a peculiar stillness to the lot as it too seemed to wait for the pronouncement. "It just isn't a wolf."


	8. Chapter 8

There was a faint rustle of leaves as the wind released an uncertain breath.

Kermit blinked. Calm was key here. He needed to stay calm, even while his temper threatened to emerge from its suppressed depths at the nonsensical paths of thought Peter was leading him down. Patience had kept him alive time and time again. Certainly it could keep him from strangling his friend.

Okay. "You said it was a wolf."

"Did I?"  _Did I?_ The voice didn't respond.

"You did."

_No_ , Peter thought,  _that's not right_. "No, I didn't."

Kermit could feel an eyebrow rise of its own volition. "Yes…"

"No, I didn't. I said that Nickie thought it was a wolf."

"You don't agree?"

Peter wasn't sure. Every rational part of his mind told him that it had to be a wolf, or at least something close. He knew that their coroner was usually right about his findings, but there was the small fact that what they currently were working with was based on preliminary guesswork. Nickie had stressed that point adamantly. With the backlog of cases the man hadn't gotten very far on their victim yet.

Understandable, Peter reasoned. There was only so much one person could do at a time and it hadn't been very long yet: even if it felt like days had passed since the ringing of his phone had wakened him this morning. Why then did he feel like they weren't doing enough? Everyone had their purpose in a pack; it was their duty to carry out that purpose well. If they couldn't do that... well, someone else could.

The hierarchy was subject to change.

_What?_

"Peter?" Kermit's tone was carefully neutral as he watched the peculiar flickers of thought pass over the normally easy-to-read face of his friend. He didn't comment on the oddity, in spite of the disquiet it caused. Now just wasn't the time, although there was a feeling growing in the pit of his stomach that said sooner or later time was going to run out on them. That insight also told him that with Peter, it was bound to be sooner.

He really hoped that Paul would get over his fear and talk to the kid. Oh, yeah. He knew it was fear that had prevented Blaisdell from speaking to Peter about... well, everything. It wasn't something he'd normally confront Paul on: in the trade you learned to overcome your own fear. You learned to rely on yourself, because a lot of the time you just didn't have anyone else.

Trust was a valuable commodity; one that proved difficult to give away.

However, if Paul didn't get his ass in gear and deal with it, there wouldn't be any other option but intervention. Kermit couldn't help but feel that whatever was off about Peter was related, at least in part, to the lack of real communication between the kid and Blaisdell. The ex-mercenary didn't know what either of them was thinking if they thought they could just ignore the problem. Kermit believed it was Paul's job to fix it; after all it had been his choice to leave in the first place. Never mind the reasoning behind the action, the end result was the same.

As he looked at Peter, mindful of the distant, dark gaze and the closed off expression, Kermit once again couldn't help the twinge that told him time was running out. Then again, maybe he'd just been hanging out with Shaolin for too long. Glancing at Peter once more didn't alleviate any of his concern.

Peter was looking off into space at... nothing, nose twitching slightly as a cool gust of wind raked over the lot.

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"Kai is here? Are you certain?"

"Y-yes," the blond haired man stammered, knowing he'd screwed up royally by not having dealt with Kai before when the betrayal was first suspected. But, then, he hadn't been sure and if he'd acted then without confirmation… well, he supposed either way he faced the possibility of being killed. That was his role in life.

"How do you know?"

"I s-saw…"

The hard blow sent him sprawling as it caught him, and yet it hadn't really surprised him. He had known he'd be punished. The anger being vented on him couldn't shock him either.

Nothing came at a higher price than betrayal.

"You saw Kai and didn’t finish your task!" Fierce eyes gleamed in annoyance.

It  _was_  annoyance now, though. It had seeped through the anger. That was good. He might just get out of this one with his tail intact. Nobody could read the rest of them the way he could, and that included the one in front of him. His life depended on being tuned into the most subtle of changes within each individual member of the group.

He didn't bother to reflect on his lot in life again. He'd grown used to it. He knew.

Life just generally sucked when you were the scapegoat.

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Kermit watched in growing alarm as Peter moved silently forward: a cold, calculating glitter to his hazel gaze. There was a grace and fluidity to each movement that went beyond what he'd observed in another human being before, even in a Shaolin. It was the kind of ease and precision that was born into all creatures who stalked the world. Who relied on their stealth and senses to catch their prey; to survive.

Seeing that in a human went beyond eerie.

Okay, he was disturbed. It was all right to admit that, at least to himself. Continuing to observe Peter, who had stopped for a moment and was now standing entirely motionless, Kermit began to think about Myanmar. The uncharacteristic silence of his friend. The stillness. The method of tracking Blaisdell. The way it had seemed as though Peter had been testing the air for a scent.

Much like he was doing now, some remote part of Kermit's mind informed him as another gust of wind moved through the lot. The small particles it left hanging in the air began to settle immediately, coating his jacket in a thin layer of grime. Absently one hand flicked against a black sleeve, even as his mind disregarded it as irrelevant and tracked movement instead.

Peter had walked away a short distance and now rested in a stable crouch position, fingers lightly brushing over something on the ground. The sun crested the building at the far end of the lot at that instant, and the object in the dirt winked golden as the warming rays of light hit it.

Part of the young Shaolin's mind, operating on that foreign level, bid him to remember another time. Another place. The shimmer of gold in the darkness. But the voice remained silent, and the thought slipped beyond reach as he looked back down at the rich metal pendant glimmering contently.

Sole bearer of a secret.

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Nickie Elder was intrigued in the morbidly fascinated way in which only a practitioner of his art could be. He had been looking over the body from the mauling; a body he'd heard about long before he had gotten to see it for himself. What others had said, however, hadn't prepared him for the sight he was greeted with.

As a coroner, he'd seen so many barbaric and grisly things. Murder in all its 31 flavors. Or was that ice cream?

Well, whatever. He'd seen a lot. But this...

Maulings weren't new: in fact it was an old story. Some dog got out of a fenced yard and attacked the neighbor's kid: page one news. Or rabies. There was always rabies. He didn't think rabies was involved though. Not that he was a detective by any means, but he had dealt with the virus before. One instance always stood out in his mind, when he thought about the dreaded disease.

A man who had, presumably, suffered a drug overdose turned up on the table for a routine autopsy. The doctors, that had tried to treat the man, never suspected anything but the massive amount of cocaine in his system, and the consequential brain hemorrhaging, to be the cause-of-death. They'd had no reason to search either, the explanation seemed obvious. So when Nickie's results came in, they had all been surprised.

The symptoms resulting from the man's rabies were masked by the similarly produced symptoms resulting from his overdose.

If the family hadn't requested the autopsy in the first place, they likely would never have known that the real reason the young man had died had been a fatal bite from a bat that had roosted near his home.

Regardless, the mess on the table didn't scream 'rabies' to him. It did yell 'large canidae' pretty loudly though. That was part of the trouble he was having with the whole thing. Animals didn't do this sort of thing. Even under the influence of brain altering viral diseases... they just didn't. Aggression, sure. He could buy that. Kill a human, certainly. The missing flesh was easily believable too. But what had been done to the face? And that eye…

Or rather lack thereof…

Canines didn't do that sort of thing. They would go for the throat. Wolves were sometimes, if rarely, known to hamstring prey to slow them down. Actual death was usually the result of blood loss, shock, or a combination of both factors.

This guy had suffered… a lot. By all appearances, that had been the point.

His was not to reason why, however. His job was to figure out  _what_  killed those poor souls that came through here, and get the results to those whose trade it was to figure out the who and why. Unfortunately, or perhaps just confusingly, the what remained consistent with his preliminary hypothesis. The width between claw marks and depth of the wounds matched. Necessary jaw pressure matched. He'd done the measuring now, and the dentition of the teeth matched. The results from the hair, and other DNA found, were back. Match.

They were looking for a  _very_  large canine. More specifically, they were looking for a wolf.

Nickie couldn't help but remember what had happened when he'd first arrived on the scene early that morning. Getting out of his vehicle, he'd seen and approached Peter. His friend had been standing some distance from where the body was: half in the shadow cast by a nearby building. Nearing his friend, the lights set up around the victim only dimly illuminating his way this far from them, he'd drawn up short. Startled. As Peter's assessing gaze focused unblinkingly on the distant body, the coroner had sworn he'd seen shine back from those normally hazel eyes, making them flash green in the relative darkness of his chosen location.

Nickie had blinked, and when he looked again the reflective quality was gone. Certainly no more than the stress of all the hours the coroner had been putting in lately. Wouldn't be the first time he'd imagined things under those conditions. But then he'd gotten within a few steps of his friend, and could have sworn he heard Peter mutter to nobody, " _The wolf is chasing the sheep."_

At that point Nickie had seen someone else standing nearb: a cop whose slight smirk had puzzled Nickie. He was waving the coroner over so, instead of talking to Peter, Nickie had entered back into the light and gone over to see what the man had wanted. The odd words, which would only later prove accurate and raise questions, rang in his ears.

_The wolf is chasing the sheep._

**** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ****

Kermit walked over and quickly bent down, using a pen to snare the pendant by its chain. Straightening up, the gold twinkled in the light as the sudden momentum caused the chain to twist around itself as far as it could, and the built up energy then forced it to unravel and spin in the opposite direction.

Peter hadn't taken his attention away from the piece of jewelry, and from his crouch alert eyes watched suspiciously as it continued to dance.

Kermit resisted the impulse to growl. This was getting old fast. Swallowing the sarcastic comment residing at the tip of his tongue, understanding that it would have gone unnoticed anyway, he went for the simple approach and hoped for a response.

"Peter." It wasn't even a question this time. It wasn't a statement. It was a demand for acknowledgement, and it worked. The hazel orbs shifted, instantly losing their intense edge and looking once more like those that belonged to the kid he knew.

"Yeah…" As he stood, the easy grace present was typical Peter. No lasting trace remained of whatever that  _other_  had been. Peter sighed, rubbing his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand before continuing. "We should probably head to the precinct. Get that checked out." He wearily waved at the pendant for emphasis. "Maybe we'll get lucky."

Kermit nodded, accepting that for now. Truth was, he wasn't certain how to confront his friend about this odd behavior. He'd meant to do it back in Myanmar, when he'd first noticed it. At the time, however, there had been more pressing matters to deal with. Then later…

Well, later had never come. Now here they were, knee deep in this case that was getting more unsettling by the minute; more complicated. Never mind that talking wasn't exactly Kermit's area to begin with.

While he had dealt with many things others couldn't fathom, he knew instinctively that whatever was going on with Peter wasn't something he could fix.

Assuming it was something needing fixing. It wasn't fair to always assume Peter would find trouble everywhere - but it was habit to look for it by now. Besides, it was obvious that something was wrong with the kid. He'd known it since they'd come home. Hell, since before they'd come home.

He'd managed to convince himself that it would go away. It was stress. Lack of sleep. Worry. Fatigue. Tension. Or, being a Shaolin who was suffering from stress, lack of sleep, worry, fatigue and tension. Who knew how they'd react? Who ever knew how Peter was going to? But the truth was… Kermit knew that it wasn't any of those things.

He had dwelt on the inescapable idea of change. Kermit had known things were going to. Well, something in Peter had changed.  _Was_  changing. He just couldn't make himself believe that, whatever it was, it was for the better.

**** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ****

The annoyance had passed, a little at a time. Amazing how therapeutic such action could be. Those who said that violence never helped anything clearly had no idea what they were talking about. It had calmed him immensely. He hadn't meant to unleash his temper like that; normally he remained quite in control. But lately there'd been an urge. A craving in the pit of his stomach. A hunger that couldn't be sated no matter how many hunts he embarked on. It wouldn't be allowed free rein again. It couldn't.

That just wasn't civil.

As for the recipient of his wrath, well... the grunt was lucky he'd been allowed to live at all. It really didn't matter. Even if the beating had killed the lowly stationed creature, it wouldn't have made that much of a difference. Another would have been found to fill the role naturally; it was simply the way they functioned. While positions were being reaffirmed, on the other hand, there would have been instability and internal strife. That wasn't acceptable. So, the meek, blond-haired thing had been granted another day. However, if the creature failed again...

There was a limit to his patience.

Yet, those were darker thoughts. They didn't belong in his mind right now. Didn't do his mood justice. Not when he was in such high spirits - emotions that had been felt and promptly absorbed by all of the others, creating a jubilant atmosphere.

The next mark had been located and the hunt would inevitably brighten the whole week.

The last one had been extremely disappointing. The man should have been a stronger target, put up a better fight. The prey had been in the prime of its life and been found fit as can be by the practiced eye of a born predator. Even that old man had been more challenging. Actually, the old man had been amazingly difficult, which was one of the only reasons he was still alive.

_I could fix that,_ he reasoned. But no, that wouldn't do. Not yet. It would ruin the bigger game, and that really just wouldn't do at all. He was good at waiting. He could be infinitely patient when necessary.

The old man was hardy, no doubt about that. He'd been selected on precisely that belief, out of all the possible targets. The others had thought him crazy when he'd told them who the quarry of that hunt was to be. Some had laughed.

He'd grown angry then, and they hadn't laughed again.

He was calm now, though. And he knew that in the long run, no matter how easy these first few might be, no matter how disappointing, it was imperative that he remember they weren't the prize. They were entertainment along the way.

They were... bait.

A greater hunt had been revealed to him, a superior plan. A game, started month ago, was continuing to be played. He'd simply been too short-sighted to realize the full potential of what he'd set into motion.

It had been seen now, and his body shook in eager anticipation at the mere idea of it. Soon he would deal another hand and watch how the other played it out.

The thought bounced merrily around in his head.

_Soon_ , it promised.

_Release_ , it assured.

He smiled.

 


End file.
